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Together they fought their way down 

[Page 138] 



LADY OF THE SNOWS 


A NOVEL 


BY 


EDITH OGDEN HARRISON 


Author of /fl 

Princess Sayrane, Prince Silver Wings, 
The Glittering Festival, etc. 


With Illustrations and Decorations 
By J. ALLEN ST. JOHN 

( SECOND EDITION ) / 



CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1912 




/ 


Copyright 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
1912 


Published October, 1912 


Copyrighted in Great Britain 



W. F HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO 


©CLA3275B1 

rt * _ ^ 



To 

My Husband 



ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Together they fought their way down . Frontispiece 
“You have health and brains, Patricia, and you 

have beauty,” said the Archbishop . . . 182 

He looked into the inscrutable eyes of Tonta . 192 
Trevelyan did not think of his own danger . . 254 
































































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T WILL, of course,” said the 
Archbishop, “ be a great loss to 
me when she marries. Remem- 
ber, I have had her with me 
for many years.” 

The younger man said 
nothing. 

After a glance at the set and troubled face, 
the Archbishop continued, his voice softly 
modulated but ringing with an undercurrent 
of deep emotion, “ But if she marries a man 
she can love and respect, the knowledge will 
be a solace to me.” 


[ii] 


The Lady of the Snows 


And still the younger man said nothing. 

“ However,” reflected His Grace, whim- 
sically, “if you are never to meet, how can 
either of you judge of love?” 

At these words the man opposite stirred, 
and met the regard of the benevolent eyes 
with a keen though respectful look, while 
he spoke with some eagerness. 

“True; then do you still think it wiser to 
accept her mandate and wait?” 

“A woman’s tongue in anger,” the elder 
man oracularly remarked, “is like a man’s 
fist, you know. You should both be calm 
when you meet.” 

The other’s strong, handsome face became 
slightly cynical. 

“ Do you think,” said he, “ that calmness 
ever won a woman?” 

His Grace smiled indulgently. 

“The fair sex,” he expounded, “is an un- 
reasonable sex, a barbaric sex, and no amount 
of argument would avail you now, my friend.” 

“But,” the young man protested, with sud- 
den warmth, “the fact that mine is a fool’s 
errand is not to be considered with compla- 
[12] 


The Lady of the Snows 


cency. It is not very flattering to one’s self- 
esteem to be at the beck and call of a spoiled 
^oung lady’s whims; I have already wasted 
time enough over them. Furthermore, if I 
can’t boast the glory of winning, there is a 
certain grace in admitting defeat. Isn’t 
there?” 

The Archbishop laughed outright. 

“ Perhaps, perhaps,” said he. “But defeat 
is not yet, is it?” And he added with 
twinkling eyes: “When the time finally ar- 
rives for that long deferred meeting, you may 
count on me as an ally.” 

So complete was his surprise at this unex- 
pected offer, that Charlton Trevelyan was 
startled. 

“That is indeed good of you, sir,” he stam- 
mered lamely, with an Englishman’s charac- 
teristic diffidence and reluctance when his 
feelings are sympathetically touched. But the 
unaffected way in which the Archbishop over- 
looked his discomposure quickly set him at 
ease again. 

“A man’s faith,” the older man pensively 
pursued, “is sometimes intuitive. For days 

[13] 


The Lady of the Snows 


mine has been crystallizing.” He turned his 
serene eyes full upon the young man, and 
added gently: “I believe in you.” 

Trevelyan’s heart warmed at the unmistak- 
able sincerity of this brief tribute, for it was 
much more pregnant and comprehensive than 
an extended panegyric could have been; it 
was spontaneous, genuine. “ What a splendid 
old man!” was his impulsive thought. His 
ruffled feelings were in a measure soothed — 
and they were sadly in need of soothing — by 
the well-disposed attitude evidenced. For 
had he not been tricked into coming all the 
way to Canada, only to suffer humiliation at 
his journey’s end? He had, at any rate, so 
assured himself many times. Consequently it 
was wonderfully inspiriting to be convinced 
of a partisanship that meant something, for 
the Archbishop’s influence, in many direc- 
tions, was incalculable. 

Hilaire du Bertrand, the Right Reverend, 
Archbishop of Quebec, was an oldish man, 
sixty or sixty-five, tall and largely built, and 
possessing features of much strength. But it 
was the strength of simplicity as much as of 
[i4] 


The Lady of the Snows 


personality, of a character that had been 
moulded by purity of purpose and an undevi- 
ating adherence to lofty, ennobling aims. His 
mouth was large, nose prominent, chin firm, 
and the brown eyes, rather deeply set, revealed 
a humorous light that bespoke tolerance for 
petty weaknesses of the flesh. He had a broad 
forehead and soft, silky white hair in great 
abundance. His teeth were white and even, 
and no one would ever have mistaken the birth 
of the Archbishop ; he had that indescribable 
air of breeding that called forth instant re- 
spect. He wore a plain cassock with purple 
buttons, but even without his cassock you 
would have divined his calling from the air 
of church authority so distinguishable in the 
Catholic priest. The amethyst on his third 
finger, the large cross with the same stone on 
his breast, marked his distinction. His office 
demanded the courtesy address of your lord- 
ship and your grace. 

That Rome valued his services was attested 
by the broad power she granted him in Can- 
ada. In his church work he was supreme, 
and his exceptional mentality often had served 
[i5] 


The Lady of the Snows 


the Government, too, in good stead. That 
for some years his position and achievements 
had made him the most conspicuous person- 
ality in Quebec was merely an inevitable 
corollary. 

With all his wisdom, though, he was the 
most modest of men. In spite of his piety 
and his devotion to his holy calling, he was 
fond of a joke. Possessing as he did such an 
admirably rounded character, it was not re- 
markable that he was one of the most popular 
men in the entire Dominion. 

Hilaire du Bertrand was proud of his 
church in Canada. He was proud of her be- 
cause he knew what she had accomplished 
had been brought about only by herculean 
effort; that every inch of soil had been won 
by the blood of martyrs. He realized to the 
full her hours of agony, and he knew the bril- 
liancy she shed around her today was gained 
only by fire and sacrifice. 

The Archbishop and Trevelyan were sit- 
ting in the library of the former’s home in 
Quebec. As he spoke, the lines of humor 
were apparent around his Grace’s mouth, and 
[16] 


The Lady of the Snows 


his eyes twinkled merrily. It was discernible 
from his mien, that while he sympathized 
with the young man’s discomfiture, he was 
amused at its cause. 

“After all,” he said, “women’s ways are 
not men’s ways. The youngest of them shall 
ever remain enigmas to the oldest and wisest 
of us. Indeed, the wider the span of years 
separating us, the less capable we are of draw- 
ing conclusions.” 

The Englishman bowed politely; there 
really was no comment he cared to make — 
anyhow, not where the Archbishop could hear 
him. 

To say that he was annoyed but mildly ex- 
presses the state of his feelings at this time. 
Events certainly had taken a turn that never 
could have been imagined and much less 
provided against by the most astute and 
sophisticated in the ways of inconsequential 
femininity. 

His Grace continued: “Your coming was, 
after all, a mistake. And yet,” he added, 
smiling, “ I can not quite blame you ; she is 
in every way worth the undertaking.” 

[i 7 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


But there was not the shadow of a smile on 
the young man’s face. On the contrary, he 
looked distinctly vexed. 

“Why did she write for me to come?” 
Trevelyan demanded. “Why summon me all 
the way from England only to deny me ad- 
mission to her august presence? What infer- 
ences may one draw from such a — er — such 
extraordinary conduct? 

The Archbishop shrugged his shoulders. 
“Caprice — some sudden whim,” he ven- 
tured; “how should I really know? At your 
age one could tell better. But if I might offer 
a reason,” he continued, quizzically, “the 
natural curiosity of the sex to see the man to 
whom one is engaged might be a sufficient 
motive for her letter. Do you not think so?” 

“ Perhaps. But, then, why this sudden 
flight on the very day of my arrival?” Tre- 
velyan was both disgusted and indignant. 

The pretty room, with its dim light and 
soft shadows, and its faint perfume of flowers, 
all at once grew disagreeable to him. He, 
Charlton Trevelyan, twenty-six, and belong- 
ing to the best and finest of English stock, 

[18] 


The Lady of the Snows 


tricked — yes, that was his word — tricked 
into coming to Canada to satisfy a girl’s 
caprice, and then to be laughed at for his 
pains! To be told, on his arrival, that she 
would not see him! He had never heard of 
a parallel case. He had considered every pos- 
sible excuse that might condone her treatment 
of him, but his shocked sensibilities could ad- 
mit no extenuating circumstances; her con- 
duct, viewed from any angle, was nothing 
short of outrageous and — vulgar. 

The Archbishop’s kind, shrewd eyes read 
much of all this in the young man’s face, and 
his tone was correspondingly tempered with 
gravity when next he spoke. 

“ My son, I know that it is very hard for 
a man in your position to sit quietly down and 
wait while a woman makes up her mind. But 
if you have any philosophy, bring it to bear 
now; my ward is worth the winning, and 
years of waiting are none too many to gain 
her love. 

“Your engagement is, of course, peculiar. 
Forced upon both of you by her doting uncle, 
you stand to lose the immense fortune he left 

[19] 


The Lady of the Snows 


by refusing to accede to a dying man’s whim. 
Betrothed in childhood as a jest, his will has 
made the retention of his vast wealth depend- 
ent upon your marriage — before her twenty- 
fifth birthday — and to that extent the will is 
binding. 

“ Strange, is it not,” he went on, in a musing 
strain, “that a man apparently sane can so 
meddle with the present that the consequences 
of his acts reach into the future and affect 
the lives of others after his death. Every 
attempt to anticipate the Divine Will, my son, 
is invariably fraught with dangerous possi- 
bilities.” His tone abruptly became definite. 

“ She got her money, as you know, on her 
eighteenth birthday, and now at twenty-three 
has learned to appreciate its power. The 
magnificent hospitals, the schools, the con- 
vents she has built, all testify how properly 
she has used it; but this charitable spirit also 
shows how loath she would be to part with it. 
With the comparatively small amount that 
she would receive in the event of her refusal 
to marry you, she could do nothing more in 
the great work she has planned.” 

[20] 


The Lady of the Snows 


Of a sudden the Archbishop concentrated 
his magnetic regard full upon Trevelyan. He 
continued : “ Good men are rare, my son. I 
like your face, and you come of fine stock. 
The Earls of Ducie and their sons stand for 
honor and probity in England, and I believe 
that my ward might be happy with you. 
But,” he shrewdly concluded, “do not forget 
that mere worthiness in a man is not always 
the quality that appeals strongest to a woman.” 

“I wonder,” Trevelyan irrelevantly asked, 
“why she asked to see me at all?” For the 
first time he smiled. “ She is capricious. I 
never knew a woman with a drop of French 
blood in her veins who was not. I suppose 
that explains everything.” 

The Archbishop arose, and for a time paced 
sedately to and fro before replying. 

“Hardly that,” he presently said, with 
an air of giving the supposition careful 
consideration ; “ I never before knew her to 
act so impulsively. But her nature is very 
determined.” 

On a table near Trevelyan was a glass filled 
with pomegranate seeds brought from the 
[21] 


The Lady of the Snows 


tropics. Their wonderful color caught and 
held his eyes. They were like deep colored 
pink pearls : unconsciously he leaned forward 
and put one of the delicious tasting particles 
into his mouth. 

The Archbishop smiled benignly upon him. 

“Now that you are here,” he inquired, 
“what do you intend doing? Will you return 
to England at once?” 

“No,” Trevelyan hastily replied; “I think 
I shall have a try at your big game.” 

He entertained only the haziest notion of 
doing so, however; but he went hot and cold 
by turns at the very thought of going home 
to England and confessing his failure not only 
to meet, but even to catch a glimpse of his 
fiancee, Miss Patricia Sutherland. He was 
unable to conceive of a man being placed in 
a position more ridiculous or humiliating. 

“Good!” His Grace endorsed the deci- 
sion with energetic warmth. “ The West will 
prove a revelation to you. And while you 
are about it, get into touch with its life, its 
people; you will then have something worth 
while to think about. That is the only way to 
[22] 


The Lady of the Snows 


gather impressions of any country. We are 
not all frivolously gay, as you have seen us in 
Quebec and Montreal; we have our serious 
side when we arrive at the mountains, the 
great rivers, the wide-spreading plains, and 
the ocean. Perhaps, after all, these things 
constitute, or stand for, what is best in the 
Dominion.” 

And thus it was settled that Trevelyan was 
to go West. 


* 


[23] 





s 





H, the freshness and the glory 
of the West! Trevelyan had 
never dreamed of anything like 
it. Its fascinations beckoned 
him like a siren. Vast water- 
ways with purple recesses of 
shores unveiled themselves to 
his delighted eyes, and snow-crowned moun- 
tains stirred him to admiration of their solemn 
beauty. 

As he journeyed across Canada, Charlton 
Trevelyan was disturbed by many new 
thoughts and unfamiliar emotions; but it was 


[27] 



The Lady of the Snows 


on the balcony of the chateau at Lake Louise 
that his doubts were finally resolved and the 
spirit of determination entered fully into his 
soul. 

He had just finished a successful hunting 
trip, which had continued some weeks, and 
only the day before had returned from Lake 
O’Hara across the Continental Divide. There 
he had climbed dizzy heights in pursuit of 
the nimble wild goat; and there, under the 
spell of a set of influences that had guided 
his cogitations into channels altogether fresh 
and novel, he had found time to think. This 
trip to Canada, if it had done nothing else 
for him, had supplied abundant material for 
thought. 

High up amidst the eternal silences of the 
snow-mantled Selkirks he had meditated pro- 
foundly. No man of ordinary intellect can 
mount the summit of that lofty range, or cross 
the Rockies, without being made conscious of 
depths in his intangible self that he never 
dreamed of before. 

And as Trevelyan sought out the silent 
places and gazed across the majestic sweep 
[28J 


The Lady of the Snows 


that separates peak from peak, as he con- 
templated the glittering cloud-tipped crags 
and the seemingly immeasurable depths of 
granite-ribbed canons, or brooded in the dark 
recesses of forest-clad slopes, or when he 
crossed some unknown lake of wonderful 
color and mysterious depths, with waters 
lying in a basin scooped out of solid rock then 
the inexpressible grandeur of the West, its 
wild beauty and immensity, stirred him as he 
had never been stirred. Hitherto, without 
offensively obtruding his opinion, he had 
believed the Trevelyans to be fashioned of a 
superior kind of clay; here, where on every 
hand he stood face to face with God’s naked 
handiwork, his pride was humbled, his spirit 
chastened. He was made to feel, for the first 
time in his life, the worthless insignificance 
of humanity in the presence of eternal 
Nature. The futility of his own aimless 
existence was brought home to him with 
overwhelming force. 

In truth, this idea had been germinating 
in his mind ever since his arrival in the Do- 
minion ; he was now aware that it had added 
[29] 


The Lady of the Snows 


to his disquiet during the few weeks spent 
at Quebec, where he had hearkened to the 
Archbishop, and had not been blind to His 
Grace’s busy life nor the fruits thereof; but 
out here, in the Valley of the Ten Peaks, con- 
viction had sprung suddenly into full growth, 
and for a period his lot was indeed well-nigh 
unbearable; the past and such deformed 
philosophy of life as it had offered was slip- 
ping away from him, while what the future 
might have to offer instead had not been 
revealed. The old, insecure foundation was 
crumbling in ruins, with imminent peril to 
the supported house, because the new one was 
being too tardily substituted. 

But Hope threw wide her doors, and smiled 
her most welcoming smile, when he realized 
that the remedy lay within himself, — he must 
do something. He must achieve something 
that would justify his taking and maintaining 
a place among his fellows. It was with a 
sense of shock that he realized that heretofore 
he had deliberately scorned that place, and 
made light of it, when in reality it constituted 
his one valuable heritage. 

[30] 


The Lady of the Snows 


Having arrived at this stage in his mental 
and moral rehabilitation, he was able for the 
first time to review his past with less prejudice 
against truth, and to consider with less bitter- 
ness the circumstances that had jarred him 
from his well-ordered — if dull and useless — 
routine and brought him to Canada. 

Charlton Trevelyan was the third son of 
an old and noble family. His eldest brother, 
the Earl of Ducie, possessed the title and 
estates; his other brother was carving a career 
for himself in the army. Had he himself 
drifted with the conventional current, Charl- 
ton might have found preferment in the 
Church, but his trend of mind did not make 
that calling appear particularly attractive; 
and so, on a moderate income, he had man- 
aged a bit of traveling, and had practically 
thrown away his chances — as his friends were 
thoughtful enough to point out. After one 
of his African trips, he had remained in Eng- 
land a year; long enough to chafe at the 
restrictions and delimitations that surround 
the third in line of succession to a title. 

But if environment and enforced habits of 
[3i] 


The Lady of the Snows 


life had rendered him ripe for failure, con- 
stant knowledge that he was engaged to one 
of the richest girls in Canada was the final 
influence potent to work his irretrievable un- 
doing. However feebly ambition may have 
spurred him, it was made impotent by this 
knowledge; all incentive was dulled to in- 
effectiveness. 

And here was a striking example of the 
mischievous results that may proceed from 
— as the Archbishop phrased it — “an at- 
tempt to anticipate the Divine Will.” Patri- 
cia Sutherland’s father’s brother had loved 
Trevelyan’s mother for the whole of his life 
since adolescence; Fate had separated them; 
but he had willed that their blood should be 
mingled by the marriage of his niece with 
her son. In the event of both refusing to 
marry, his truly stupendous fortune, repre- 
sented by miles and miles of priceless timber 
and unnumbered mines, was bequeathed to 
the cities of Quebec and Montreal, for the 
creation and maintenance of parks, museums, 
and libraries; if one refused, the other inher- 
ited outright; but until her twenty- fifth birth- 
[32] 


The Lady of the Snows 


day Patricia was to enjoy all the income and 
benefits of the property. On their marriage, 
it was to be divided equally between them. 
He was three years and some months her 
senior; therefore, in his twenty-eighth year 
he would begin to share the immense estate 
with her. 

Trevelyan, however, had long been restive 
under the restrictions the girl had put upon 
him. She had wrung a promise from him 
not to attempt to see her until the beginning 
of the three months prior to their marriage — 
the period specified by the will for the fur- 
therance of their acquaintance. By means of 
a coldly formal and businesslike letter, she 
had very frankly and very concisely laid be- 
fore him the reasons for her willingness to 
abide by the testamentary conditions; she 
wished to retain her share of the fortune in 
order to continue the charitable and philan- 
thropical work to which she had dedicated 
her life, and anything savoring of sentiment 
was to be rigidly avoided, in their present 
and future relations alike. It was, in short, 
a cold-blooded business proposition, in which 
[ 33 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


she sought all the advantages obtainable, with 
a supreme disregard for and indifference to 
his feelings or desires in the matter. More 
than once he had been strongly tempted to 
release her altogether from the bond, because 
in that case she would still inherit the money; 
but he had never quite brought himself to 
doing so. He had all of an Englishman’s 
love of wealth and the power and advantages 
which wealth alone can give, and all such 
manly and becoming impulses were drugged 
with casuistry: he would wait until he had 
seen her; they might, after all, get on as well 
as the next couple; besides, he had an actual 
interest in the money, for half of it was indis- 
putably intended for him; an active antipathy 
would certainly be discovered during three 
months’ courtship, and the matter could be 
definitely settled at any time within that 
period. He invariably contented himself 
with the foregoing argument. 

He even had no photograph of her, since 
her ban against sentiment had prompted a 
curt refusal of his request for one, and he had 
seen her only once — when she was eight years 
[ 34 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


old. His only distinct impression of that 
meeting was of a slim little girl whose pre- 
dominating features were eyes and legs. 

When he first looked down upon Lake 
Louise, every dormant impulse for good 
within him made itself manifest. The spell 
of his enchanting surroundings was strongly 
upon him. A dazzling heaven overhead, 
magnificent snow-capped mountains, stupen- 
dous glaciers confronting him like frozen 
Amazons, and the painted portals of the val- 
ley narrowing in distant perspective and shim- 
mering in hues of translucent purple and red, 
awed his soul and filled him with a profound 
sense of shame. What could he do? What 
could he ever hope to accomplish? His edu- 
cation had been at the expense of self-reliance, 
and in all his twenty-six years of drifting with 
the current he had really never met with an 
obstacle. 

This Canadian girl had given him his first 
rebuff ; that had stung more than he cared to 
admit; but, in sober truth, nothing except his 
amour propre had been injured. He had read 
somewhere that obstacles overcome were the 
[ 35 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


stepping-stones to greatness, that through sac- 
rifice and unselfishness a man developed char- 
acter; if that were true, how lax his life must 
have been, how unfit he was now. 

In these placid mountain solitudes it was 
brought home to him how unprepared he was 
to take up any branch of Canadian business. 
He lacked capital, experience, initiative, 
everything requisite to start him upon a com- 
mercial career, and there was little in his past 
save an unblemished reputation for punctili- 
ous observance of his class’s ethical code to 
inspire confidence in his ability. There was 
literally nothing for which he was properly 
equipped. 

This period was one of black depression 
and despair, a time of utter hopelessness; and 
then, lo! a miracle was wrought. 

On a certain crystalline night when a bril- 
liant moon, riding high in a star-studded sky 
of deepest indigo, transformed the glittering 
peaks into icebergs and made of the lake a 
scintillating jewel, it was given to him that 
he should hear a Voice. 

And in the bottom of his soul a conviction 
[ 36 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


found its abiding place, that the Voice hence- 
forth was to be his inspiration and his mentor, 
and that it would direct him out of the night 
and into the light, and set his feet firmly upon 
the broad highway that leads to Achievement. 


[ 37 ] 


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E sat smoking on one of the bal- 
conies of the chateau, contem- 
plating and unconsciously 
drinking in the glories of the 
placid night. The air was keen 
with frost, for though the Sep- 
tember days are full of warmth, 
the nights are cold; and he had about made 
up his mind to reenter the hotel when he saw 
a man and a woman approach the veranda 
from the ballroom, where now and then he 
had been vaguely aware that an orchestra was 
playing. The couple were separated from 
[4i] 



The Lady of the Snows 


him by a thick screen of shrubs, so that in 
the moonlight and the light from the win- 
dows and doors he was unable to distinguish 
their faces. As he was sitting quietly, he 
assumed that they had not been attracted to 
him. 

But their voices came to him clearly, and 
occasionally, through the intervening screen 
of branches and leaves, he caught glimpses 
of the white dress and silver scarf the woman 
wore. It was impossible, however, for him 
to obtain a distinct view of her face, though 
after a bit he was trying his best to do that 
very thing, for the words he could not help 
overhearing had a strangely moving effect 
upon him. The very first sentence was of a 
nature to hold his attention, making him dis- 
regardful of that which at another time he 
would have been instantly aware of — that he 
was listening to a conversation not intended 
for his ears. But the words seemed to have 
been inspired by his own gloomy meditations; 
they came to him like an oracle’s response to 
his sick spirit’s appeal, suffusing his bleak soul 
with sunshine and warmth and hope. Evi- 
[42] 


The Lady of the Snows 


dently she was replying to a question of her 
companion’s. 

“ Because men fight for something here. 
That is what makes life more interesting — 
fuller of sensation — in this Western world.” 

“Do you, then, love power so much as 
that?” the man asked. 

“Not power alone ! I love triumph — the 
triumph over weakness — the surmounting of 
obstacles — the ruthless conquest of every 
difficulty, every impediment to progress. I 
love success I But my real reason is that idle- 
ness disgusts me. A man who can sit supine 
in this age is not a man at all. He must move 
men. He must lead if there is anything in 
him. No matter how small his world, he 
must work to win.” 

“Ah, you women of Canada,” commented 
the man, lightly, “you take life so seriously!” 
Trevelyan judged him to be an alien, like 
himself. 

She continued : “Are the women here alone 
in entertaining sane, ennobling ideals and try- 
ing to live up to them? I should think that 
all women with red blood in their veins must 
[ 43 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


think the same. The men we know,” she 
proudly affirmed, “do not sit waiting in per- 
petual silence for the gods to provide.” 

“What, then,” the man questioned, curi- 
ously, “ are the qualifications of your ideal?” 

“ He must seek opportunity,” she quickly 
returned, “ create situations, not wait for them 
to devise themselves and invite him to partici- 
pate in their benefits; that type of man is a 
born leader of men, and ultimately reaches 
success because he can not help himself.” 

“ But,” said the man, deprecatingly, “ where 
shall one find opportunity? It does not hang 
from every branch, nor lurk at every turn of 
the road.” 

“Yes,” the girl contradicted, “it does — 
here. Here, in the mountains, opportunities 
are countless; here is the kernel of life — 
mines, timber, mills, land to be developed, 
cities — a whole empire — to be built.” 

Half in jest she spoke, but Trevelyan this 
night possessed the divining instinct that 
caught the serious undercurrent of her tone. 
He did not doubt that she spoke truth. 

The man next said: “Ah, Mademoiselle, 
[ 44 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


how your eyes sparkle — how your face glows 
— as you say that! Were I younger, you 
would not speak twice to urge me to action.” 

The girl’s silvery laugh rang clear as a bell. 
The man with her, then, was old — at least, 
he was not a young man. Why this circum- 
stance pleased Trevelyan he could not have 
told, but it did. And he would have given a 
good deal to see the girl’s face; the voice he 
would recognize, no matter where he heard 
it. It was deliciously low, yet with its soft 
pitch, clear and distinct. 

“ Why are you surprised at my views?” she 
asked. “ Power over self, power over men — 
that is life. To live a few such hours is worth 
all the years of the idle rich. Life is flooded 
full of something that money can not buy. I 
have no words that will express my contempt 
for the man who is content with his lot.” 

“And for that other, that happy, man,” 
queried her companion, “the demi-god of 
your fancy, what would you do for him?” 

Trevelyan moved uneasily. He should not 
listen he knew, yet for the life of him he 
could not help it. He hung upon her answer. 

[ 45 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“ I love the masters,” she defiantly retorted. 
“ There is nothing such a man might ask of 
me that I would not willingly grant.” 

What magic was there in the woman’s voice 
that held Trevelyan spellbound, thrilling with 
its individuality? Invisible waves of ether, 
radiating from an indefinable centre, were 
enveloping his soul, as he hearkened. Had 
some psychic message gone forth from him, 
that her words should come like an answer to 
his troubled thoughts? She had revealed to 
him, unmistakably, that everybody must labor 
if the world in all her loveliness was to be 
enjoyed. Life was not the flesh-pot and the 
fire of self-indulgence. 

And as these convictions crowded upon 
him, he rose up a man, newly made and reso- 
lute, his face set unflinchingly upon the path 
before him. 

That night, before retiring, he wrote to the 
Archbishop, soliciting his influence to pro- 
cure him a commission as an officer of the 
Royal North-West Mounted Police. 

And all the next day he haunted the lobby 
of the hotel, listening for her voice and 
[ 46 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


hoping to be able to look upon the face of 
the woman who so unconsciously had inspired 
him with courage for the vital, determining 
decision of his life. Indeed, he was obsessed 
by an inexplicable certitude that he would see 
her again; which, perhaps, was not so strange 
after all, when it is considered that she con- 
tributed so materially to the shaping of his 
destiny; and for several days he lingered on 
at Lake Louise and until the conclusion could 
not be avoided that she was no longer there. 

But he departed at last with the conviction 
still strong upon him that he would meet her 
again somewhere, and that he would find her 
as beautiful as she now seemed elusive and 
mysterious. 


[ 47 ] 









HERE were three things that 
lay very close to the heart of 
Hilaire du Bertrand, Arch- 
bishop of Quebec, his Church, 
his Ward, and his Hobby. The 
first of these, it goes without 
saying, represented the absorb- 
ing interest of his life; the second was the 
object upon which he lavished the devotion 
of his affectionate nature; the third was — 
Reciprocity. 

It is rather difficult to impart an accurate 
conception of the relative importance which 
[5i] 


The Lady of the Snows 


he attached to the second two of the interests 
mentioned, because sometimes his ward and 
sometimes his hobby engrossed his whole at- 
tention to the exclusion of all other matters 
mundane; and this particular morning he was 
thinking neither of his priestly duties and 
obligations, nor of his one great material 
ambition — namely, a full and complete recip- 
rocal agreement between Canada and the 
United States. It follows, therefore, that he 
must have been occupied with Miss Suther- 
land’s affairs. 

That his thoughts respecting the willful 
young lady in question were of an agreeable 
character was made manifest by the pleasant 
expression animating his strong but delicate 
countenance. He was at breakfast. Beside 
his plate reposed the bulk of his morning’s 
mail, while two letters lay open before him: 
one was the letter written by Trevelyan at 
Lake Louise and received the morning pre- 
vious; the other was from Patricia Suther- 
land, and had been mailed at a postoffice 
many miles distant from the beautiful resort 
in the mountains. He had digested them both 
[52] 


The Lady of the Snows 


with exceptional care, but something in the 
girl’s letter had impelled him to hunt up 
Trevelyan’s and compare the two; whereupon 
he had fallen into a train of reflection that 
was leading the good Archbishop into all 
sorts of happy complications and surprising 
possibilities, and as he meditated he would 
refer every now and then to one or the other 
of the missives. Occasionally he chuckled 
softly, and rubbed his hands together in a 
manner that was expressive of extreme satis- 
faction. 

The tenor of Trevelyan’s letter we are 
already acquainted with. Miss Sutherland’s 
was somewhat discursive, as a young lady’s 
letters to her closest confidant are wont to be; 
but it contained numerous passages which 
seemed to afford His Grace a good deal of 
delight, for he read them again and again. 

“After turning the matter over in my 
mind,” ran one of these passages, “ I do not 
in the least feel that I owe Mr. Trevelyan an 
apology. It is merely a question of dollars 
and cents with him, and he shall be paid in 
dollars and cents for performing the sole 
[ 53 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


function in which I have the slightest interest 
concerning him: which is to insure to me the 
means of continuing the program I have 
mapped out for the future. If my plans and 
movements are to remain absolutely free and 
unhampered after marriage, why should I 
discommode myself now? I do not believe he 
could find a means more gratifying to himself 
by which to earn his hire, than to wait and 
do nothing; it is the only thing that training 
and inclination have made him proficient in.” 

Another read : “ I have simply taken ad- 
vantage of woman’s prerogative; whether I 
shall do so again and consent to receive him 
depends entirely upon whether I can over- 
come a feeling that I shall thereby be demean- 
ing myself. Such a conviction is very strong 
on me right now, and I just had to get out in 
the open and cleanse myself with God’s pure 
air. . . . What is to be gained by such a meet- 
ing now? I am by no means ignorant of the 
type, and you know the contempt in which 
I hold it; then why should I add to my feel- 
ings disgust for the individual? . . . He can 
spare himself the trouble of consulting my 
[ 54 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


wishes, for it is my purpose to follow my own 
inclinations without consulting him, or, in- 
deed, considering him otherwise than in exact 
accordance with a strict interpretation of my 
uncle’s will. My wants and my actions are 
no concern of his.” 

Considering that His Grace believed these 
caustic declarations and observations would 
have acted like acid upon their subject’s sensi- 
tive organization, it is rather remarkable that 
repeated perusals of them should afford him 
so much gratification; as we have no other 
clew to his thoughts, aside from a knowledge 
that his ability to read human character 
amounted to infallible accuracy of judgment, 
it can only be surmised that he was looking 
into the future and picturing a meeting and 
a ripening acquaintance between these two 
young people, amid conditions and surround- 
ings which neither could possibly dream of 
now. He was, moreover, ignorant of the 
transformation that Trevelyan had undergone 
— or, rather, that the transformation had oc- 
curred so soon ; if he had known of it he would 
have realized that the young man, instead of 
[ 55 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


being hurt and insulted by Patricia Suther- 
land’s letter, would have been in a frame of 
mind to humbly admit every one of her 
charges. 

After finishing his morning meal, he re- 
paired at once to his library, where he gave 
considerable attention to the composition of 
a long, intimately friendly letter to his ward, 
at the conclusion of which he mentioned, in 
the most casual way, that Charlton Trevelyan 
had concluded to remain indefinitely in Can- 
ada, and that he was seeking a commission in 
the N. W. M. P. 

Being as he was in close touch with every 
department of the Government, he expe- 
rienced no difficulty in securing a commis- 
sion for the applicant; a service which, for 
some unexplained reason, seemed measurably 
to add to His Grace’s enjoyment of a highly 
diverting situation. 











INCE their organization in 
1873, the Royal North-West 
Mounted Police of Canada 
have ever been an irresistibly 
inviting theme for the ro- 
mancer and the spinner of tales 
of stirring adventure wherein 
extremes of hazard are a part of the daily 
routine. Some of this literature represents 
the riders of the plains in a true light; much 
more is utterly untrustworthy and what the 
troopers themselves characterize as “ guff.” 

For, like all brave men, they are modest, 
[ 59 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


these intrepid spirits, shunning as partaking 
of the nature of a vain show any parade of 
achievement in desperate undertakings which 
to them are of everyday occurrence and all in 
the line of duty. Here are a mere handful 
of men — six hundred and fifteen officers and 
troopers, all told — who keep better order and 
enforce a stricter observance of the law in 
a region including two million six hundred 
thousand square miles than do the thousands 
of metropolitan police in the quite circum- 
scribed territory of a city like New York or 
Chicago, not to mention the countless advan- 
tages which a city affords. All pioneer set- 
tlements are notoriously lawless and reckless, 
and inclined to be governed only by con- 
temptuous disregard for all attempts at regu- 
lation; and these facts, together with the tre- 
mendous distances that have to be patrolled, 
the nature of the country, and lack of the 
commonest conveniences, more than offset any 
difficulties that may be presented by conges- 
tion of population. 

And then, your city policeman has a whole 
host of reserves at his instant beck and call, 

[ 60] 


The Lady of the Snows 


should he happen to want them; his personal 
responsibilities are comparatively few and 
slight; while, on the other hand, the Mounted 
Policeman oftener than not works alone, or 
at best with no more than a corporal’s guard. 
Reinforcements are frequently hundreds of 
miles away, and only to be reached after an 
arduous horseback journey, or by dog-sled, 
or afoot; so he goes ahead about what he has 
to do, with never a thought of reinforcements. 

The standards by which the Mounted 
Police are made unerringly reject the weak 
and the unfit. They have a saying that 
amounts almost to a motto : “ It is the hardest 
body in the world to enter, and the easiest to 
get out of ;” and the sifting process results in 
a constantly uniform corps of intelligent, fear- 
less, physically sound men of a high moral 
gauge, and trained by experts and by stern 
practice in the manifold duties they are ex- 
pected to perform. Whether it is to convey 
a madman through five hundred miles of un- 
broken wilderness in the dead of winter, as 
did Constable Pedley and was himself driven 
insane by the experience, or to show an igno- 
[61] 


The Lady of the Snows 


rant settler how to build a house or cut a 
furrow, or nurse the victim of some malignant 
disease, or whether it is to ride single-handed 
into a band of Indian braves rapacious for 
white scalps and arrest their chief, the wearer 
of the scarlet tunic is ever ready, for it is all 
in the day’s work. They are a hard-bitten 
body, every one a crack shot, miracles of en- 
durance, and wonderfully capable. 

Now, after Charlton Trevelyan’s bitter de- 
preciation of himself and his limited quali- 
fications, does it not seem inexplicable that 
from the host of opportunities of whose exist- 
ence the Voice at Lake Louise had assured 
him, he should have chosen this particular 
avenue as the shortest, most direct road to 
wealth and power? The truth of the matter 
is, however, that he scarcely could have de- 
cided more wisely, for he needed, first of all, 
a ripening, toughening experience, and the 
acquirement of a more perfect knowledge of 
his new field. His fondness for hunting and 
for adventuring in strange lands and the wild, 
untamed places of the world had perforce 
made him proficient in most of the require- 
[62] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ments for joining the Mounted Police, and 
therefore he was enabled to compress the cus- 
tomary six months’ training that is exacted of 
all recruits into a few weeks. He was familiar 
with all sorts of firearms; he could ride and 
shoot with the best of them ; he was inured to 
roughing it, to finding his way about, and 
caring for himself in all sorts of outdoor con- 
ditions, and he was, besides, a perfect speci- 
men of physical health and strength. And 
then, too, he could bring to the body a trained 
intelligence of no mean order, and a tact and 
gentlemanly bearing which would often serve 
him in better stead than any display of force. 

In short, he was more than material for an 
ideal trooper; his was the type of man needed 
to lead, to be placed in positions of responsi- 
bility where matters calling for delicate ad- 
justment are constantly arising. 

All this the Comptroller and Commissioner 
were quick to perceive, but lacking which 
qualifications even the Archbishop’s power- 
ful influence alone hardly could have ob- 
tained for him the desired opening. His own 
manifest ability and the Archbishop’s friend- 
[63] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ship combined, however, were enough to 
smooth the way for him. The end of five 
weeks saw him a full-fledged trooper, and 
three months later he was placed in charge 
of an important mission. 

The Canadian Railway Company was ex- 
tending a branch line into an hitherto un- 
opened region ; operations were being hurried 
forward as speedily as circumstances would 
permit, and the work required a host of labor- 
ers. The construction of every far Western 
railroad through sparsely or unsettled terri- 
tory invariably has been marked by deeds of 
violence of one sort or another. The labor is 
rough and fraught with hardships, and the 
men who perform it are rough and seek the 
grosser pleasures — such as are to be found in 
the groggery, the dance-hall, or at the gam- 
ing-table. So, in addition to a steady drink- 
inflamed, high-tension fighting humor among 
its own laborers, which blew off with more or 
less disastrous results after every pay-day, the 
railway had to cope with a horde of parasites 
— birds of prey — who fringed the camp and 
picked their living from the toilers. 

[64] 


The Lady of the Snows 


It was anything but an easy matter to 
keep this vicious element under something 
approaching even a semblance of control, and 
to Trevelyan was assigned the responsibility 
of quelling the wild disorder. He recognized 
the task ahead was difficult. 

This is how he went about it. 

One of the most pernicious of the camp’s 
hangers-on was a certain individual whose 
appearance and repute were equally evil, 
known as “ Pete.” Because he was the owner 
of a liquor permit — the devil alone knows 
how he ever obtained it — his attitude toward 
the law’s majesty, as personified by the soli- 
tary trooper who appeared unexpectedly upon 
the scene one day, was one of studied arro- 
gance and sneering contempt. In other 
words, he industriously plied his rotten wiles, 
drugging the laborers with vile whisky, pleas- 
antly robbing them of their hardly earned 
wages, and with a cheerful clap on the shoul- 
der sending them back to earn more, so that 
the process might be repeated; and all this 
with a subtle but none the less real considera- 
tion of Trevelyan which, translated into 

[65] 


The Lady of the Snows 


words, would render: “What are you going 
to do about it?” 

Unfortunately, Trevelyan could do nothing 
without positive evidence of some illegal act. 
It was absurd to expect a Sunday-school at- 
mosphere amid the primitive conditions of 
this rude camp ; the elemental forces prevail- 
ing here were as immeasurably beyond the 
sway of any refining or uplifting influence as 
so many earthworms. He could not stop Pete 
from selling whisky, nor prevent the laborers 
from drinking it. Nor could he interfere if 
they subsequently chose to hand over what 
remained of their wages to Pete through the 
medium of roulette, poker, or faro. 

“ He’s the worst sort of mucker,” Ether- 
edge, the chief engineer, had assured him 
within an hour after his arrival. “ I don’t 
see why such coyotes are allowed to live — 
how they escape being shot or knifed, I mean. 
For God’s sake, get him, Trevelyan. We’ll 
stand by you. Most of the boys will, too, 
times they’re not hide-full of his poison.” 

So, after a preliminary survey of the entire 
camp, he directed his particular attention to 
[ 66 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


Pete’s place, watching the games for evidence 
of crookedness, eying every drink that passed 
over the bar, in the hope of detecting Pete 
or his barkeeper in the act of “ doping” it. 

At once it became apparent that the unsav- 
ory proprietor resented this sharp surveil- 
lance, which he was not slow to discern. He 
came up to Trevelyan the third night where 
the latter leaned against the wall opposite the 
bar, and eyed him stonily from “ Stetson” to 
boots, and back again. 

“ Say,” he then rudely demanded, “ ain’t 
there nothin’ doin’ on yer beat, or is it more 
comfortable to loaf here than get busy at 
what you’re hired to do?” 

Trevelyan returned his look, unruffled, ig- 
noring the sneering insinuation that he was 
afraid to patrol the camp. He quietly, but 
firmly replied: 

“The place worst needing attention I 
picked out first. It is yours. I had meant 
to give you fair warning and a chance to be 
decent; but I take this occasion of your own 
making to tell you that I am going to run 
you out of this camp — close you up. Men 

[67] 


The Lady of the Snows 


of your stripe are not wanted here, and will 
not be tolerated.” 

For a moment Pete glared savagely at him, 
as if debating whether or not to lay violent 
hands upon him and forcibly eject him from 
the place; but Trevelyan’s stalwart, upstand- 
ing figure, his unflinching look, and unmis- 
takable fearlessness, made the other choose 
the wiser course. He laughed insolently, his 
manner deliberately offensive. For the bene- 
fit of any bystanders who might choose to 
lend him their “ moral ” support — because on 
principle the general sentiment was opposed 
to law and order — he had purposely spoken 
loudly, and Trevelyan’s outwardly careless 
regard noted that several of the more des- 
perate characters were watching him with 
open hostility; but, at the same time, he was 
gratified and encouraged at observing that 
most of the men attracted by the colloquy were 
either preserving blank expressions and atti- 
tudes of neutrality, or were moving rapidly 
out of earshot. 

“Well,” jeered Pete, “when you get any- 
thing on me, let me know.” 

[ 68 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“With pleasure,” returned Trevelyan. “I 
think it will happen tonight.” 

With that he unceremoniously shouldered 
his way through the press of barroom loungers 
to the crowd packed round the roulette table 
in the rear, while Pete followed his progress 
with a black look. 

This particular game for two nights had 
absorbed Constable Trevelyan’s attention; it 
presented at once the most alluring attrac- 
tion in the camp, and the one game above all 
others which, to the intelligent observer, was 
hopelessly fixed against every player save the 
operator. By what mechanical contrivance 
this was accomplished Trevelyan had as yet 
been unable to discover, but he was now deter- 
mined to settle the matter once and for all, 
within a very few minutes. The means he 
meant to use were desperate in the extreme, 
for if he failed at the climactic moment to 
expose the game’s crookedness, the sympathies 
of the crowd inevitably would be turned 
against him, with what disastrous results he 
did not care to imagine. 

Taking up his position among the outward 
[69] 


The Lady of the Snows 


fringe of spectators, he stood quietly watch- 
ing the play, but deftly taking advantage of 
every movement of those in front of him to 
approach gradually closer to the long table. 
The atmosphere was poisonous with the odor 
of perspiring humanity and with the reek of 
liquor and tobacco smoke, and the constant 
clicking of chips and scraping of many feet 
was regularly punctuated by the whir of the 
wheel, the spinning ball, and the “ croupier’s ” 
monotonous chant. The conversation was 
limited to brief, low questions and replies; 
but for the most part both players and on- 
lookers kept silently intent upon the shifting 
chances of the game. 

Then of a sudden the familiar khaki uni- 
form of a Mounted Policeman loomed up in 
the bright glare of the downward reflected 
lights. All eyes were promptly focused upon 
Trevelyan. 

“ Stand back a little, gentlemen,” he said, 
quietly, to those who pressed closest to him, 
and then to the operator, who was staring in 
astonishment from under his green eye-shade: 
“ Get up,” he curtly commanded. 

[7o] 


The Lady of the Snows 


For a second there was neither sound nor 
movement. Those first addressed had obeyed 
almost unconsciously, leaving a clear space 
about him. Then the operator recovered his 
self-possession. One hand shot forward to- 
ward the wheel, but not more quickly than 
the one which darted to intercept it from the 
opposite side of the table. Trevelyan’s fin- 
gers closed like steel bands around the man’s 
wrist, and with his other hand he picked up 
the little ivory ball and pushed it deep down 
into a pocket of his trousers. 

“Get up from there,” he spoke again, in 
the same tone of command — “unless you want 
to get hurt.” 

As he released the hand at the same time, 
the man obeyed nimbly enough, colliding vio- 
lently with the proprietor, who had been 
quick to note that something was amiss. With 
an impatient snarl, Pete tossed the fellow to 
one side and lunged forward into his place. 
His bearing was so venomously threatening 
as to eclipse any demonstration that by this 
time might have been stirring among the 
interrupted players, and they drew still far- 
[7i] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ther back, leaving the two chief actors in the 
center of the stage. It was Pete’s fight, 
anyway. 

“ Right here ’s where you get yours,” began 
that worthy, with a volley of oaths. 

But what Trevelyan was to have gotten 
was never revealed. Without warning, the 
sole of his heavy riding-boot crashed against 
the flimsy table with a force that hurled it, 
together with the more solid apparatus, up 
and over against the infuriated proprietor, 
who spoke not nor moved again until after 
many minutes of persevering ministration by 
certain of his minions, from whose hearts fear 
of him was not so speedily vanished as had 
been his downfall. 

What is more to the point, however, the 
wreckage laid bare just what Trevelyan had 
sought. The system of artfully concealed 
wires and tiny coil magnets could signify but 
one meaning, even to the dullest understand- 
ing. And when he had chipped away the 
“ ivory” shell of the ball, disclosing a core of 
soft iron, it became as plain as day how easily 
the operator could determine the fall of the 
[ 72 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ball; everybody saw and realized the purpose 
of the small push-button placed inconspicu- 
ously under the table edge, and knew that by 
its skillful manipulation any combination of 
plays upon the table could be blocked. 

Well, Pete’s place was closed. Indeed, it 
required all of Trevelyan’s persuasive powers 
to prevent its utter demolition; a period of 
excitement that enabled the aforementioned 
minions to spirit away their fallen chieftain 
before such decisive measures as a rope and 
a convenient telegraph pole could be called 
into play. 

Next morning Trevelyan summoned before 
him all the remaining gamblers and resort 
keepers in and about the camp; this was, in 
part, an experiment, and he noted with pleas- 
ure that not a one of them ignored his in- 
vitation. He addressed them in a tone not 
unfriendly; quietly, but earnestly. 

“ Boys, what happened last night is only the 
beginning; it is up to you to see that it shall 
be the end, too. You know that I was sent 
here to enforce the law, and that I am going 
to do so. Of course, anything can happen to 
[73 1 


The Lady of the Snows 


me; but that will not let you out. You also 
jolly well know that if anything does happen 
to me you chaps will be a thousand times 
worse off than Pete is this morning. Run 
straight and I shan’t molest you; but at the 
first sign of crookedness — that chap will be 
closed up and shown the way out of camp. 
Be good and you ’ll be happy.” 

Trevelyan was sanguine enough to believe 
that the previous night’s lesson would produce 
a lasting salutary effect; but his burdens were 
numerous enough and heavy enough without 
Pete and the rest of his fraternity, and he felt 
a momentary wave of depression after the last 
of his callers had disappeared — building a 
railroad seemed tame in comparison with 
what was expected of him. 

His meditations were cut short by a faint 
sound behind him. He was lounging at his 
tent door, gazing out over the sprinkling of 
similar tents and temporary rough board 
shacks which dotted the level below him. He 
jerked round to behold an Indian standing 
within arm’s length; he had been wholly 
unaware of the fellow’s approach. 

[ 74 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


Halfway startled, he stared into the im- 
passive brown face, while the Indian slowly 
held out to him a fragment of soiled paper. 
He took it and at once gathered the meaning 
of the single scrawled line of writing. 

“ lie git you you ” 

He flushed red hot; but immediately con- 
tempt for the writer removed the vile epithet’s 
sting and convinced him of the threat’s utter 
futility. He tossed the dirty bit of paper 
from him with a laugh. 

What the messenger then did was signifi- 
cant. Gravely, he stooped and picked it up 
and handed it to Trevelyan again. Without 
the slightest trace of expression in either his 
face or his voice, he somehow managed to 
infuse a laconic bit of advice with a good deal 
of meaning. 

“ Pete, him heap bad man,” said the mes- 
senger. “ You look out.” 


[75l 














HAT Charlton Trevelyan was 
to have his whole attention 
and all of his energies kept busy 
pretty constantly, had already 
been deeply impressed upon his 
mind. The easy removal of one 
annoying difficulty by no means 
denoted that those remaining were to be ap- 
proached as if they were merely stumbling- 
blocks calling for no more than a vigorous 
shove to remove them definitely; no, no: there 
were other factors which he quickly recog- 
nized as real, grave, potential dangers. 


[81] 



The Lady of the Snows 


One day it would be the head of a toma- 
hawk firmly wedged at the joint of two rails; 
the next, a huge log, or maybe a veritable 
avalanche of boulders would be discovered 
upon the right of way just in the nick of time 
to avert a disastrous wreck; and while he was 
away on the trail of the culpable miscreants 
other miscreants would be running off the 
company’s horses and cattle, or otherwise 
hampering the work. 

Indian and white marauders were equally 
adept at stealing the stock, but there was no 
crime too petty for the former to stoop to. 
The redskins, however, entertained a more 
wholesome respect for the Mounted Police 
uniform than did many of the white despera- 
does, and Trevelyan’s presence in the neigh- 
borhood in a large measure checked their 
depredations. Still, they required ceaseless 
watching. 

As may be imagined, the conditions de- 
scribed were exacting to the limit of Trevel- 
yan’s endurance; but his splendid physique 
and unflagging patience, his uniformly cool 
nerve in the face of every danger, shortly 
[82] 


The Lady of the Snows 


began to produce the one inevitable result: 
the conditions began to change for the better. 

That he was the man for the place was 
demonstrated in a surprisingly short time; 
guilty individuals were so speedily and invari- 
ably apprehended, and so severely punished, 
that he began to find time hanging heavily 
upon his hands. The railway officials were 
warm in their commendation of his services; 
and this circumstance, together with his su- 
perior officers’ appreciation of his ability and 
a fortuitous concurrence of two or three pro- 
motions and resignations, gave him an Inspec- 
torship and full charge of the Maple Crossing 
depot. 

As a commissioned officer he was now 
always more or less in communication with 
the headquarters depot at Regina, and one of 
the first things that attracted his attention was 
the number of important decisions which 
manifestly had been influenced by the reports 
of one G. Templeton. Particularly was this 
the case in all matters pertaining to the vari- 
ous Indian tribes. The information respect- 
ing the Indians possessed by this individual 
[ 83 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


was really marvellous, and that this special 
knowledge was invaluable to the Government 
was evidenced by the frequency with which 
it had been acted upon. To the Englishman 
it was comprehensively enlightening, and his 
admiration and respect for G. Templeton 
constantly grew. 

Indeed, here was a man worth cultivating. 
On more than one occasion, when Inspector 
Trevelyan asked for data on some specific 
subject, it would be supplied to him in the 
form of G. Templeton’s report on same, which 
would be at once concise, exhaustive, and a 
model of typewritten neatness. By degrees a 
curiosity grew in his mind to learn more of 
the man, together with a desire to meet him. 
G. Templeton, serving as he did in a special 
capacity, must sometimes visit the various 
depots, Trevelyan argued; but a politely 
worded inquiry based upon this conclusion 
elicited a very unsatisfactory reply from head- 
quarters: G. Templeton being a secret-service 
operative, Trevelyan was informed, the value 
to the Government depended largely on the 
identity being kept from the Service generally. 
[84] 


The Lady of the Snows 


But that name, nevertheless, was ordained 
to figure largely in Trevelyan’s destiny, as he 
was presently to discover, although after the 
refusal by his chiefs it gradually came to 
occupy less and less of his speculations. 

It may be recorded in passing that Pete 
and his disgusting warning had been utterly 
forgotten long since. 

That Spring the Blackfeet tribe began to 
cause a good deal of trouble, and Trevelyan’s 
activities in recovering the ponies and other 
live stock of the settlers in his district, and 
in tracking down and arresting the redskin 
thieves, kept him always on the move. Owing 
to the nearness of the International Boundary, 
he had to act sharply, else the culprits would 
cross into Montana with their booty, and it 
must be confessed that the United States au- 
thorities displayed no marked efficiency in 
cooperating with those of Canada. 

His work was fast moulding habits both of 
living and thinking which, a few short months 
previously, he would not have thought pos- 
sible. In truth, an altogether new life was 
opening up to him, one that gave him a zest 
[ 85 ] 


The Lady of the S nones 


he had never experienced and an interest in 
every detail of his labors, and he was acquir- 
ing a radically novel and sane point of 
view from which to contemplate his old life. 
Closely involved with this metamorphosis was 
a clinging memory of Lajce Louise and all 
that had happened there. Often he seemed 
to see again the beautiful country of the Kick- 
ing Horse Pass, the Bow River Valley, and 
above the black avalanche of glacier (rising 
like the roof of the universe) the white snow 
fields of the mountains. Again he seemed to 
hear that beautiful voice and the rare per- 
sonality which it had revealed. Would he 
never hear the one again or come to know the 
other. 

It seemed intolerably cruel of Fate that he 
should be denied this reward. And then 
would come other questionings: If he were 
to meet her, would she care to know him? 
Would it in the least gratify her to learn that 
she had made a man anew? 

That she was supremely beautiful he was 
convinced; for beauty inevitably must be the 
final distinguishing stamp of so many superior 
[ 86 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


qualities. She was unmarried, for he recalled 
that the man with her had addressed her as 
“ Mademoiselle ” ; but a year had passed since 
then ; much can happen in a year ; and if, when 
he did meet her — 

He did not like to think of this possibility, 
and somehow his cogitations on the subject 
always stopped here. However, more or less 
always as he rode these or similar thoughts, 
and his horse, were his sole companions. 

One night, after a particularly arduous but 
unsuccessful day’s pursuit of a band of thiev- 
ing Blackfeet, he returned at dusk to his cabin. 
Both horse and rider were nearly spent, but 
before satisfying his own hunger, or taking 
a well-earned rest, he saw that his mount was 
made comfortable for the night. He had been 
in the saddle since dawn, and had ridden hard 
and fast to make his camp before a threatening 
storm broke. 

Almost as he entered the doorway he 
noticed upon his table a typewritten letter, 
unsigned. Something in its appearance had 
impelled him to snatch it up and look for the 
signature; but there was none. 

[ 87 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


Now, improbable as it may seem, a type- 
writing machine that has been used for any 
considerable length of time acquires an indi- 
viduality all its own which is quite as marked 
as a person’s handwriting. The user of the 
machine nearly always manifests a partiality 
for a particular style and color of ribbon, for 
example; then certain minute imperfections 
of type and alignment have begun to appear, 
and there are almost imperceptible uneven- 
nesses of spacing at certain points: these all 
recurring at regular intervals are sufficient to 
identify the writer to any one who has read 
any considerable quantity of that writer’s 
script. 

It was this feeling of familiarity that had 
quickened Trevelyan, although he was unable 
to recall where or when he had seen a similar 
bit of text. But the missive’s import promptly 
banished from his mind all speculation on the 
anonymous writer’s identity. It was startling 
enough, and for some vague reason, convinc- 
ing. Thus read the message : 

No. 16, west-bound mail, will be wrecked tonight 
at trestle No. H3323, unless it can be flagged and 
[ 88 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


warned at point nearest Maple Crossing. The 
trestle, as you know, spans a deep stony ravine, 
and reliable information is to the effect that it has 
been or will be tampered with for the purpose of 
ditching 16. As this conspiracy involves a direct 
plot upon your life, the writer believes this warning 
is due you. The woods are closely watched and it 
will be impossible for you to approach scene without 
being shot. 

With his countenance a perfect blank, 
Trevelyan read through this alarming com- 
munication a half-dozen times before any 
clear thought crystallized in his brain. When 
it did, he tossed the sheet angrily upon the 
table and swore. 

“ Fancy anybody thinking I should be led 
off on a wildgoose chase like that!” It was 
indeed humiliating and irritating to learn that 
anybody should take it so for granted that he 
would deliberately shun a peril. 

The thing, it was true, might be a joke; 
but a moment’s reflection reminded Trevelyan 
that there was always the odd chance that such 
a warning might be genuine; the familiar 
appearance of the printed lines increased this 
possibility. The writer himself might be in 
[89] 


The Lady of the Snows 


deadly peril. There was no telling what risks 
he might have braved to get him this message. 
A dozen good and sufficient reasons would 
account for the absence of a signature. 

He stood and scowled down at the sheet, 
pulling at his lip and considering the best 
way to take advantage of its admonition. 

By an unfortuitous chance, for the time he 
was alone: of the seven men constituting his 
little command, all were absent on one errand 
or another. Two constables had taken a 
band of Indian thieves to Edmonton; a ser- 
geant and two other constables were still trail- 
ing the band he had been pursuing during the 
day, and none of them could be looked for 
before morning; while the remaining trooper 
might be in at any time. But delay meant 
danger, for Trevelyan had resolved to walk 
to the trestle, there being no mount available 
save his own, which was too far spent to be 
pressed into service again this tempestuous 
night. 

So he scribbled a note to Constable Rich- 
ardson, directing him to follow to the trestle 
with all speed, then donned slicker and sou’- 
[ 90 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


wester, lighted a lantern, and struck out 
through the stormy blackness. 

The rain had blown by, but the wind was 
still driving a gale, and the night was bleak 
and pitch dark. 

“ If it should prove a hoax,” he growled, 
“Lord have mercy on the chap who wrote 
that letter — if I ever find him.” 

But somehow he could no longer believe 
that the warning was a hoax, and an indescrib- 
able fear chilled him to the marrow. 



/ 



> 





ROM the high plateau of his 
cabin he descended into a val- 
ley, crossed a stream filled with 
wild grass, and circled the edge 
of a mountain to gain the 
shortest cut to the grove. He 
stumbled and floundered along, 
for the lantern was now hidden beneath his 
slicker, and, with his effort to hurry, beads of 
sweat started from every pore. 

Would the struggle be in vain? 

Despair seized him as the enormity of the 
impending disaster grew in his mind. All 
[ 95 ] 



The Lady of the Snows 


at once another aspect of the typed warn- 
ing stood out luminously: his own fate was 
involved in the plot: why? 

Like a flash Pete’s evil visage appeared 
before his mental vision, and now when it was 
too late he deplored the indifference with 
which he had treated the scoundrel’s threat. 
Why, even the ignorant savage messenger had 
been wiser than he! But he could only groan 
and stumble desperately, stubbornly, on 
through the night. 

Pete could not have chosen a more effective 
method of retaliation. Trevelyan was con- 
vinced that his whole future was blasted. 
Nothing could excuse him in the eyes of the 
Government for the laxity that made such a 
deed possible. He was like the captain of a 
sinking ship : there was nothing to do but go 
down with her. Success and failure are such 
simple words to say, but oh! the space that lies 
between. Yet, terrible as this thought was — 
the idea that through no intentional fault of 
his he must be held accountable, and that 
nothing would palliate his negligence — it was 
lost in the larger horror of the sheer fiendish- 
[ 96 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ness of the man who could perpetrate such a 
deed in cold blood. 

To the honor of Charlton Trevelyan it must 
be said that, excepting for the momentary 
horror that had overwhelmed him when he 
realized how much he had at stake if he 
failed to avert the disaster, he did not give a 
second thought to himself, nor to the threat 
against his own life. His one idea was to 
save the unsuspecting passengers who even 
now were being whirled swiftly to their doom. 
He was faint with dread at the wickedness of 
the human intelligence that could so wantonly 
traffic with human lives, and the very fact 
that his death was a part of the unspeakable 
plot overwhelmed him with a double sense of 
responsibility — he must save them even at 
the cost of his own life. There would be 
blood upon his hands forever if he failed in 
this crisis. 

And so, burdened by the tumult in his mind, 
he struggled against and fought and overcame 
the obstacles of his path, pushing on without 
pause. 

Of a sudden he stopped. From a distance 
[ 97 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


came the wind-flung shriek of a locomotive. 

Too late! 

He staggered dizzily, and an icy hand 
seemed to reach out of the darkness and seize 
his heart. 

Too late! Too late! 

Where was the bridge? He stretched forth 
his own hand to steady himself; then joy and 
courage surged through him; for it encoun- 
tered the unmistakable chill of iron. Almost 
with the same movement he swung himself up 
to one of the huge side girders and stood 
firmly planted upon the trestle, swinging his 
lantern crazily. The approaching headlight 
seemed about to topple over upon him. 

That the desperadoes must be lurking nearby 
never entered his head until, with a sudden 
crash, his lantern seemed to explode in his 
hand, extinguishing itself like a soap bubble; 
then he became hazily aware that somebody 
had fired a shot, and that the very rocks and 
bushes seemed to be flashing and crepitating 
like an automatic gun. But the dense dark- 
ness was again his protection, and before he 
had time to consider his own safety, or that he 
[ 98 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


had been robbed of the sole means of checking 
the train, he was all at once convinced that 
the night’s strain had been too much for him. 
For between himself and the roaring train 
stood a white figure in the headlight’s daz- 
zling glare, swinging a lantern, just as he had 
been doing. 

The sequence of events of the next few sec- 
onds remained for ever afterwards confused 
in his mind. The locomotive blared a loud 
stop signal, and with the abrupt grinding of 
emergency brakes he went plunging over the 
ties toward the figure in white. And just as 
he reached it, it began to sway, to fall. . . . 

He stood holding the limp figure in his 
arms, thrilling with an overpowering con- 
sciousness of its femininity. The heavy train 
came to a jerking stop; the scene was flooded 
with light, and many people were insanely 
crowding and jostling one another. But 
Trevelyan remained oblivious to all of this, 
and as the light glowed on the figure in his 
arms the face of the woman, like a white 
impression on black paper, was stamped for- 
ever on his memory. 

[ 99 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


He thrilled as he had that momentous night 
at Lake Louise, and looking into the pale face 
of the woman lying in his embrace he said: 
“ It is she.” There was no accurate reason he 
could give for such conviction but, neverthe- 
less, he repeated to himself, “ It is she.” 

With the silence of a ghost, an Indian girl 
appeared suddenly from out the darkness. 
She looked timidly up into Trevelyan’s face, 
and laid a hand upon the insensible woman. 

“ Gloria!” she cried. “Gloria! Come!” 

The woman stirred, her dark lashes raised 
languidly, and the man was gazing into the 
most beautiful eyes he had ever beheld. 

She stared blankly at him for a moment; 
then a rich tide of color suffused her cheeks, 
and as she slowly recovered herself she with- 
drew from his embrace, and moving forward 
with the Indian girl vanished into the dark- 
ness before he could speak. 

“ Gloria,” he voiced the name exultingly, 
“Gloria!” 


[ioo] 


I 


I 



» 













N the confusion incident with 
the excitement at the bridge, 
Trevelyan completely lost sight 
of the woman he was now con- 
fident had sent him the warn- 
ing. But with this conviction 
a tumult of questioning began 
in his brain. Why should she have been so 
solicitous of his personal safety, knowing it 
to be his duty to frustrate, if possible, just such 
criminal deeds? How could she have known, 
or even suspected, that a plot existed to ditch 
the train? And Pete — why, they were as far 
asunder as zenith and nadir! 

[ 103] 


The Lady of the Snows 


But he had little opportunity to ponder the 
matter; he reproached himself bitterly for 
having failed to invent some pretext to detain 
her; however, there was work at hand to be 
done, and it was incumbent upon him to 
assume charge. 

The narrowly averted disaster constituted 
an offense much too grave not to call forth all 
the resources of the Mounted Police. The 
miscreants escaped for the time being, but the 
episode and its attendant circumstances made 
their capture a matter of personal honor with 
Inspector Trevelyan, and he directed all the 
strength of his will and mentality to that end. 
It was perhaps the most gratifying moment 
of his life when, through his direct instrumen- 
tality, Pete and his murderous followers were 
apprehended and speedily convicted. 

But with them landed safely behind the 
bars and slated for long terms of imprison- 
ment, for the first time he felt at liberty to 
look for the mysterious woman — for Gloria. 
When the first tentative inquiries elicited no 
news of her, he was disappointed, but scarcely 
surprised. He prosecuted the search more 
[104] 


The Lady of the Snows 


energetically. And then he became com- 
pletely mystified : despite his perseverance and 
the machinery at his command, he could find 
no slightest trace either of her or the Indian 
girl, nor could he uncover any clew pointing 
to their identity. Had not others beside him- 
self seen her while she was still in her swoon, 
he might have come to believe that she was 
a hallucination after all. It seemed incredible 
that so extraordinary a woman, one so beauti- 
ful and refined, could have anything in com- 
mon with so rough a region without being 
regarded by the scattered inhabitants thereof 
as a sort of tutelary goddess. 

He must find her. He owed this much to 
himself, for she had saved his reputation and 
his honor. He did not scruple to enlist not 
only his subordinates and colleagues in the 
quest, but questioned the Indians as well. But 
the result was always the same. She remained 
a mystery; she was as ineluctable and as 
intangible as a wraith. 

And the desire to hear her speak, to confirm 
his belief that she was the woman of his 
dreams, the woman he had heard at Lake 

[105] 


The Lady of the Snows 


Louise, increased each hour. This one idea 
became an obsession with him: waking or 
dreaming he thought only of her. She was 
like a presence with him. 

Even when he was not consciously searching 
for her, he never ceased expecting to meet her 
again. Beyond the next turn she stood, beck- 
oning him, always. 

At last, however, when he was nearly de- 
spairing of success, his unflagging efforts were 
granted one small meed of reward. He met 
and talked with an old Blackfoot chieftain 
who, while admitting that he knew the Indian 
maiden and The Lady of the Snows, as he 
called the white woman, steadfastly professed 
his complete ignorance of their purposes or 
whereabouts. 

The Lady of the Snows! In this mysterious 
title she became to him more alluring than 
ever, his interest was even heightened. The 
spirit of remoteness, of mystery about her was 
only intensified by the beauty of her title. Yet 
it was all in keeping with her personality, and 
he felt convinced that fuller revelation would 
confirm his belief that she would be revealed 
[106] 


The Lady of the Snows 


to him finally, as the embodiment of higher 
perfection, and of supreme harmony. 

Here, despite his ingenuity and untiring 
efforts, his search ended against a stone wall. 
It was as if she had never been. And, 
strangely enough, it never once occurred to 
him that behind his uniform failure to learn 
anything tangible there was a controlling 
power more potent than any he could bring 
into play. 

Sometimes in the late afternoon, when his 
daily work was finished, he would find leisure 
to wander across the mountain passes. He 
never tired of the wonders they revealed. 
Each day fresh beauties were unfolded to his 
admiring eyes; each day the view of empur- 
pled distances, of snow field or upland glacier, 
seemed more wonderful than the day before. 

Venturing as far as was prudent, he climbed 
unexplored peaks and caught glimpses of 
gigantic waterfalls and rushing torrents of 
seething water. Sometimes a steep opened, 
and a green path bedecked with tiny red flow- 
ers, flaming like flakes of fire, surprised him 
with their loveliness. 

[107] 


The Lady of the Snows 


Many tranquil hours he spent thus in clam- 
bering over the stony slopes, or watching some 
magic vista from a dizzy height, stretching 
away to the ends of the world. And it was 
during just such a lonely jaunt that the unex- 
pected happened, and the relinquished dream 
came true. 


I 



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* A, 






E came upon her so noiselessly 
that he stood watching her sev- 
eral seconds ere she was aware 
of his presence. His amaze- 
ment at finding her in a spot so 
inaccessible and so remote from 
human habitation rendered him 
wholly at a loss how to act; his judgment was 
numb as to whether he should speak or remain 
mute, whether he should make his presence 
known, or wait until she observed him ; he was 
overwhelmed with the revelation that here, 
poised upon the edge of an abyss and peering 
[in] 




The Lady of the Snows 


into its unmeasured depths with apparent 
calm and enjoyment, was the one woman in 
all the world. 

He had never been an impressionable man 
where women were concerned, and indeed had 
always rather cultivated an unnatural exclu- 
siveness toward the gentler sex; but when this 
woman faced him, surveying him with grave 
dignity and surprise, he thrilled with sudden 
consciousness of her youth and rare beauty. 

Heavily booted as she now was, he saw that 
her short mountain dress bespoke a feminine 
fastidiousness that pleased the eye. Now that 
the light was clear, he saw that her features 
were rather strong, and that her firmly chis- 
elled chin indicated self-reliance and power; 
but the softness of her brown eyes tempered 
the chin’s sternness, and the delicate color 
which rose in her cheeks emphasized her 
youth and reminded him that he was staring 
like a boor. 

Then, too, he had an uncomfortable feeling 
that she was passing judgment upon him, de- 
liberately, and from the look in her eyes that 
the judgment was by no means flattering. 

[112] 


The Lady of the Snows 


Yet, though he took in all this in a glance, 
the fact that at last he had found her over- 
shadowed for the moment every other con- 
sideration, and he started eagerly forward, 
determined that she should not escape him 
this time. Something of his perturbation 
must have shown in his face, for as he touched 
his cap she addressed him. 

“As a stranger in this country,” she said 
easily, her face suddenly glowing with an 
animation that was like the awakening of a 
soul behind her cold beauty, “you are doubt- 
less wondering that a woman should wander 
here alone. But, surely, since its fascination 
has drawn you, too, you can not deny its mar- 
vellous wonder and charm — and concede an 
excuse for my coming.” 

There was the shadow of a smile upon her 
lips when she concluded, and her manner was 
as confident as though she were addressing a 
friend in the sunlit streets of a crowded city. 
To his mind her individual charm eclipsed all 
others, but some shred of sanity restrained 
utterance of this thought. 

Now at her first words he had uttered an 

[ 113] 


The Lady of the Snows 


exclamation of surprise, and his face went 
crimson with the accession of some sudden 
emotion. Recovering himself by an effort, he 
stammered an answer, praising the view; one 
that, to judge by her expression, failed to raise 
the standard of her estimation of him. 

But as he was steadily looking at her and 
not at the view at all, her frown of annoyance 
was further disconcerting. 

Doubtless, however, she would have been 
more tolerant of his discomposure, though 
considerably astonished, could she have di- 
vined his cause; for at the first sound of her 
voice he had known. He could never have 
mistaken its low, soft pitch, nor its silvery 
melody, and it was this sudden conviction that 
had made his heart leap into his throat, and 
caused him to cut such a sorry figure before 
the one person of all others whom he was most 
anxious to impress favorably. 

In finding the woman who had saved his 
honor that dark and stormy night he had also 
found his divinity of Lake Louise. The 
woman of the silver scarf and the Gloria of 
his dreams were one! 

[114] 






































IS instinct had not lied to him in 
the Valley of the Ten Peaks; 
it had told him that the face of 
the woman was lovely and that 
it would be given him sometime 
to behold it; but the consumma- 
tion of his hopes had come 
without warning, he was so ill-prepared for 
the shock that it is no wonder he was thrown 
off his balance. 

Her attitude toward him was oddly uncon- 
ventional, an attitude which none of the 
women with whom he had been brought into 
[n 7] 


The Lady of the Snows 


contact had ever assumed; yet through it all 
she carried herself with supreme dignity. It 
was as if she tolerated his presence with out- 
ward politeness, while secretly annoyed by his 
intrusion. Somehow her complete confidence, 
instead of putting him at ease, only added to 
his embarrassment. He was at a disadvan- 
tage, and though he strove to answer her 
composedly, he was painfully sensible of his 
awkwardness. 

As he joined her, she turned again to the 
view, seeming utterly to have forgotten his 
presence. 

“Oh, the beauty of it!” he presently heard 
her murmur. “The glory! Where nature 
shows her snows and her forests. Where the 
splendid calm of mountain lakes is found, 
where the rose-colored rock fledged with pine 
rises out of the opal waters, and the whole of 
nature seems enchanted!” 

Trevelyan did not reply, for in a measure 
he divined her mood and the train of thought 
inspired by the prospect. The few conven- 
tional words he might utter would not in the 
least express his own keen appreciation of the 
[nB] 


The Lady of the Snows 


scene, nor the constant pleasure which its end- 
less variety had so often afforded him. 

The wisdom of his silence was presently 
acknowledged when she turned her dark eyes 
upon him and spoke with a manner that was 
less aloof. 

“ I trust you will overlook my unconven- 
tionality, for I am woefully ignorant of 
women and their ways in your English world. 
I fear I have shocked you by speaking at all.” 

“Heavens, no!” he made haste to protest. 
It was much that she should care for his 
opinion, and he spoke warmly. “I am the 
intruder. And, anyhow, can it be unconven- 
tional to speak under the spell of this enchant- 
ment? Surely the artificial laws of custom 
— of civilization — can not be permitted to 
bind and crush us here!” 

“ But, nevertheless, Society would neither 
ignore nor pardon,” she calmly returned. 

“ Its judgment need not disturb us here,” 
he persisted, watching her eagerly. “ Surely 
we are safe from criticism.” 

“Is one safe from criticism anywhere?” 
she asked. “ I wonder. Even in this world 

[119] 


The Lady of the Snows 


of motionless lakes and glacier walls thou- 
sands of feet high we could not escape. ,, 

“I hope,” he said fervently, “you do not 
expect to find me as bad as that.” 

But though her sense of humor was aroused 
at this speech, she shook her head in negation 
even as she laughed, and he instinctively felt 
that she was going away from him ; that she 
would again disappear, this time perhaps 
forever. 

He was curiously disturbed by the thought; 
for the first time in his life he could not 
analyze his emotions or define their cause. 
His life for many years had been one of 
remarkable serenity, and heretofore he had 
enjoyed a masterly control of himself; now, 
apparently without rhyme or reason, he was 
rudderless and adrift in an unknown sea. He 
was bewildered. And yet he was sensible of 
a keen zest in living, a keenness that sent the 
blood racing through his body and set his 
nerves to tingling. He felt the full fascina- 
tion of the woman beside him, and this time 
he determined to fathom her identity. His 
clearest idea resolved itself into a resolution 
[120] 


The Lady of the Snows 


not to let her go away from him until he had 
learned more about her. 

Who was she? She was immeasurably 
above any of the people about them; of this 
he was positive. She stood alone, aloof; and 
yet, this being so, why was she here, indiffer- 
ent to her surroundings, excepting as their 
beauty impressed her, and to all appearances 
perfectly familiar with a region with which 
she could have nothing in common? The 
details of her personality, as they gradually 
disclosed themselves, made her more of a 
mystery than ever. 

There was nothing in the vicinity of Maple 
Crossing to attract the traveller, or to cause 
him to linger; there was a thousand times less 
reason why a woman of culture and refinement 
should seek out such a spot and deliberately 
remain there. 

Though we Americans are not like the 
Hindoos, and do not wear the cord upon 
our breasts, our caste is none the less unmis- 
takable. Was it in her speech that this differ- 
ence lay, or in the intonation of her voice, or 
in her perfect bearing? He could not tell; 

[ 121 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


but he knew of its existence. The delicate 
whiteness of her throat, where the soft coils 
of hair met it, only confirmed his conclusion; 
she was of no common clay, whatever she 
might be. 

She had turned again to the view; he could 
no longer see her face; but he divined with 
unwelcome certainty that she was saying 
goodbye to the rose-tinted rocks and buttress- 
ing crags; bidding adieu to the illimitable 
leagues of rolling forest, rioting in shades of 
yellow and purple by day, and glowing in 
flames of golden red under the setting sun. 
It was now evident that she meant to ignore 
their former meeting. Could he, then, refer 
to it with propriety? His breathing quick- 
ened. What should he do? If he remained 
silent he might never see her again. 

He was, after all, like every red-blooded, 
virile man, a creature of elemental passions, 
howsoever they might be glossed over with the 
veneer of civilization. His sense of her 
beauty was fully aroused, every fibre of his 
being responded to her womanhood, and she 
became to him a new and mysterious light. 

[122] 


The Lady of the Snows 


It was more than could be expected of any 
man to remain silent. 

As she turned to pass him, he spoke. “ Is 
it possible,” he began gravely, “ that you will 
leave me again with no explanation what- 
ever?” 

She looked quickly at him, but whether 
with kindling interest or a sudden misgiving 
he was unable to determine. The pink of her 
cheeks died out. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

Her voice was hard and cold, and he looked 
at her in surprise. 

“ Surely,” he stammered, utterly nonplussed 
by her attitude, “you have not forgotten! I 
have thought of nothing since that night but 
your splendid pluck and bravery. For it was 
pluck, you know — the rarest sort. Not a 
woman in a million would have done what 
you did, and I have longed to tell you so.” 

She did not immediately respond, and as 
he waited his heart sank, because it was ob- 
vious that he had annoyed her. He stood 
upon the threshold, but the door was closed 
in his face. 


[123] 


The Lady of the Snows 


When she spoke her eyes were stormy. 

“I had hoped,” she said, “you would not 
refer to that night. Because you stumbled 
into my life by pure accident, no necessity of 
explanation devolves upon me.” Her eyes 
flashed defiantly, and he realized that no pro- 
testation would help him. Her words con- 
firmed his fear that she fully meant to pass 
out of his life, and drove him to a persistency 
that perhaps was rude. His joyous satisfaction 
at the meeting was abruptly tinctured with bit- 
terness that she could so inconsequentially 
treat a matter that was to him of supreme 
importance. Whether she intended it or not, 
her speech and manner severely stung his 
pride and punctured his self-esteem, stirring 
his fighting blood to fever heat. Surely the 
depth of his emotion must strike some respon- 
sive chord in her breast. At any rate, what- 
ever diffidence or uncertainty had marked his 
bearing up to this stage vanished, and he 
faced her boldly, albeit respectfully, thorough 
master of himself. 

“You must answer me a question before 
you go,” he said quietly, his level regard hold- 
[124] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ing hers. The color rose swiftly to her cheeks 
again. 

“Must!” she flashed. 

“ Must,” he repeated. “ I trust I do not 
need to point out the obligation you were 
under to make yourself known, to clear up 
some very important aspects of the train- 
wrecking conspiracy that are still unexplained. 
How could you know but what your testimony 
was necessary to the conviction of the guilty 
men?” 

For a moment she was at a loss. Here was 
an unlooked for reversal of the tables. But 
she quickly recovered herself and — signifi- 
cant fact — tried to justify herself. 

“Had you needed my testimony,” she re- 
turned, her color deepening, “ I should have 
come forward. But you did not need it; I 
was watching the trial.” 

So far her look had not wavered ; her eyes 
still met his unflinchingly. But somehow his 
steady, narrowed regard had become uncom- 
fortably potent. He waited. Her eyelids 
all at once fluttered, fell. 

“ Of course,” she said, in an unnatural voice, 
[125] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“ I can not refuse to answer your question until 
I have heard it/’ 

For a moment Trevelyan hesitated; he 
found it again necessary to master his emotions 
before proceeding. Then he said, feelingly: 

“ Before asking you anything, I must speak 
of the great debt I owe you. Words are so 
inadequate — so puerile — to express one’s 
sentiments in such a case ; still you must know 
that my sensibilities have been profoundly 
touched. I must leave to your own a fuller 
interpretation of what mere speech can not 
convey. 

“ My name is Charlton Trevelyan, and it is 
one that I carry with considerable pride. But 
for you that night it would now be worthless. 
Will you not let me thank you? Will you 
not tell me how I best can?” 

“ You owe me nothing,” she said hurriedly. 
“And I have not the slightest interest in the 
repayment of what you call your debt.” 

There was no mistaking the tone of her 
voice this time; she was plainly annoyed and 
sought to end the interview. Her movement 
to go was unmistakable; still he barred the 
[126] 


The Lady of the Snows 


path and persisted. It was with forced calm- 
ness that he again addressed her. 

“ Then answer this question. Why did you 
feel interested enough to save me from ever- 
lasting disgrace if today you can only show 
me decided hostility? That reason, at least, 
I have a right to demand.” 

The girl’s eyes challenged his with a light 
that needed no borrowed brilliancy, and he 
perceived the effort it cost her to speak 
calmly. But when she finally did, the clear, 
soft pitch of her voice was untroubled by the 
constraint that left her cheeks still stained. 

“You know nothing of the circumstances 
that impelled me,” she said, “ and for various 
reasons it will be impossible for me to en- 
lighten you further. But I will say this 
much : you owe me nothing. My interest was 
not in you personally, therefore the obligation 
is purely imaginary. What you mistake for 
bravery was — was nothing of the sort.” 

He was perplexed, baffled. She was so 
beautiful, so alluring, that his whole being 
was irresistibly drawn to her. Why should 
she so obstinately hold their relations upon 
[127] 


The Lady of the Snows 


such an uncompromisingly impersonal level, 
and by doing so keep herself enshrouded in a 
veil of mystery? 

“What was it, then?” he asked simply. 

Her face and eyes were troubled. 

“That, too, is a question I can not go into,” 
she replied. “ Please try to accept this as an 
answer: In this country one follows one’s 
destiny; self-development is as much of a 
woman’s education here as it is of a man’s. I 
can only say that I learned of the plot, and in 
consequence I was largely involved in the 
responsibility of frustrating it.” 

“True,” he returned gravely. “But you 
warned me in time. I am an officer of the 
Mounted Police, employed by the Govern- 
ment to protect the people from just such out- 
rages. In warning me most women would 
have considered that their responsibility had 
ended.” 

She was now contemplating him with a 
curious little smile, and for some occult rea- 
son she flushed hotly. 

“You forget,” she said, her tone unexpect- 
edly gentle, “that I knew nothing of you 
[128] 


The Lady of the Snows 


personally. There was a great deal at stake, 
and I could take no chances.” 

He did not understand. “ I am afraid I 
don’t get your meaning,” he said. She 
explained slowly: 

“ Your life was threatened; it meant almost 
certain death if you went to the rescue. I 
knew you were alone that night — and I pre- 
ferred to take no chances.” 

His face went white. The implication was 
plain, and he was stung to anger. 

“ Simply because you did not know me,” 
hotly, “your contempt branded me a coward 
out of hand.” He plunged bitterly on, heed- 
less of the shock his words were to her. 

“ Is this obligation of self-development, as 
you are pleased to brand it, enforced upon 
the women of Canada because of the men she 
breeds? Is it upon such a foundation that 
your standards are based? For your judg- 
ment of my sex is sweeping.” 

Her luminous eyes were flashing angrily, 
but she controlled herself tranquilly: 

“Not of the entire sex, perhaps. But in a 
measure your anger is justified — because of 
[129] 


The Lady of the Snows 


what followed — and I shall not resent it. No 
doubt I presumed too far by interfering as 
much as I did.” 

Then, without warning, she was dazzling 
him with her rare smile. But he was still 
smarting; he could not so soon forget; and 
the fact that she had questioned his courage, 
that she had not given his inclinations the 
slightest consideration, rankled deeply. 

Indeed, his emotions were curiously com- 
plex. He was angry that her opinion could 
so disturb him, and at the same time he was 
conscious that he cared for it very much. He 
turned away from her and allowed his gaze 
to wander out over the glorious panorama, 
but saw nothing of it; it was as if a sea-mist 
had risen between to blind his eyes. 

“ I am sorry,” he went on presently, gravely 
regarding her once more, “sorry that your 
antagonism for a stranger should have ac- 
quired so much animus. You knew nothing 
of me, it ’s true ; but why should you have been 
so prejudiced? If we could own to the least 
mutual acquaintance I might accept, if I 
could not understand, your attitude; but you 
[130] 


The Lady of the Snows 


know nothing of me — I know nothing of 
you.” 

“ I know few Englishmen,” she murmured, 
not meeting his look. 

“ Granting that,” he went on severely, “ and 
that the few you know have not inspired con- 
fidence, why should you direct your antago- 
nism against me? You are treating me un- 
fairly, and you know it. I performed my 
duty as soon as it was shown to me : does that 
not exonerate me a little in your eyes?” But 
as she remained silent, apparently irresolute, 
he added: 

‘‘Believe me, I shall be submissive if you 
now decide that my position is unwarranted. 
And I shall never trouble you again.” His 
face was very pale, and her own reflected a 
troubled look. She spoke rapidly, a trifle 
nervously. 

“My reasons are strong for acting as I do; 
really, I have no choice in the matter. The 
explanation you desire, I must refuse. Can 
not you accept that assurance and believe that 
I am neither unjust nor unfeeling?” 

He regarded her with a characteristic seri- 

[131] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ousness that robbed his speech of all imper- 
tinence. 

“Very well. I shall never forget you, and 
I shall thank you all the days of my life for 
what you have done for me. Yet your reason 
for what you have done in my behalf is not 
flattering to my pride.” 

Her beautiful features were still clouded 
with trouble, even distressed, and he observed 
that her composure was quite gone; but he 
deliberately set his face against her, resolving 
to dismiss her from his life, to forget her. 
Never would he press his presence upon her 
again, nor would he even watch the path she 
took. Their separation, the divergence of 
their path, were symbolical. There are ob- 
stacles, he assured himself hotly, that a gentle- 
man can not attempt to surmount without 
demeaning himself. 

So it was that he missed the half-frightened 
glance she bent upon him, and failed to catch 
the full significance of her constraint when 
she murmured “ Good-bye.” 


[132] 







\ 










9 

















SMOKY cloud dropped sud- 
denly around Trevelyan, envel- 
oping him in gray obscurity. 
So complete had been his ab- 
sorption that he had not noticed 
its approach until a blast of icy 
wind cut his cheek; and in a 
twinkling the air was filled with flying snow, 
as fine as powder, that blotted out the prospect 
more effectually than night. In truth, beyond 
a yard or two in any direction there was noth- 
ing to be seen except a wall of swirling white. 
He was not without some experience with 
[i35] 


The Lady of the Snows 


these sudden mountain snowstorms, and con- 
sequently he was instantly alive not only to 
his own danger, but to the woman’s who had 
just left him. Unless one had a bloodhound’s 
scent for a trail, to be caught shelterless and 
unprepared in one of these outbursts meant 
almost certain death. 

If he, possessing a man’s hardihood and 
being in a measure used to meeting similar 
predicaments, was in deadly peril, then what 
of her? Gloria — how could she hope to win 
through to a place of safety? 

With a sinking heart, cursing himself for 
permitting his anger so far to overmaster him 
that he would permit her to go alone, he 
groped blindly for the trail, and finding it, 
went floundering and stumbling along in utter 
recklessness, where a misstep or a swerving too 
far to one side might have hurled him to 
certain destruction. 

Then he began hoping and praying that she 
would sense her danger and not try to proceed, 
in which case he must soon overtake her. The 
trail was narrow and it would be impossible 
to pass her and not know it. What he meant 
[136] 


The Lady of the Snows 


to do then he did not consider. They would 
be together. Perhaps it meant to carry her 
until they arrived at a lower level, away from 
the storm’s fury, or until they dropped by the 
way. But he must find her whatever else 
might befall; this idea kept hammering in his 
brain with maddening persistence. 

And then something touched and clung to 
his arm. Above the shrieking wind he heard 
a voice, and through the veil of snow that 
rendered all things visible ghostily unreal, he 
saw her again. 

“ Thank God!” he shouted, so overpower- 
ing was the revulsion of his feelings, so inex- 
pressible was his relief at the sight of her. 
But her first words were a part of the mystery 
of her individuality, and like every other 
aspect of her participation in his life, were of 
a nature further to prick his self-conceit. 

“ I came back,” she gasped, “ but I thought 
I would never find you. Come, come,” she 
added rapidly. “ You must hurry.” 

In his complete astonishment at the idea of 
her returning to find him, Trevelyan had 
stopped stock-still. He had grasped her arm 
f i37] 


The Lady of the Snows 


to steady her, for she reeled under the wind’s 
buffeting. But now she pulled him forward, 
and together they fought their way down the 
well-nigh invisible trail. 

For the time being every artificiality of 
their conventional training was leveled; they 
were not even man and woman, but just two 
humans uniting their resources to combat an 
elemental condition. They were shivering 
with cold and every instant growing colder, 
and both were keenly aware that unless they 
found a haven soon they would speedily freeze 
to death. Once she voiced a twist of this 
thought that made him glow with joy. 

“ It is fate, I suppose,” her clear voice rang 
out despite her panting; “we are doomed not 
to escape each other. The very elements con- 
spire to throw us together.” 

And to keep us together forever, his brain 
added, though he did not utter the thought. 

It seemed to him that they were hours 
throwing themselves against the storm, but a 
wonderful, inexplicable strength was sustain- 
ing him. He moved in a radiance that was 
never seen on sea or land. He forgot fatigue, 
[138] 


The Lady of the Snows 


he no longer heeded the cold or their peril, 
but was joyously conscious of the contact of 
her body. For a while, at least, all barriers 
had fallen from between them; but in the 
midst of his ecstasy he realized that this death- 
dealing storm would exact every ounce of 
their strength and endurance. 

She pulled away from him once, as if pro- 
pinquity, however desirable it might be to 
him, was distasteful to her; then he banished 
all consideration of mere personal feeling, 
either hers or his own, and deliberately placed 
his arm around her waist and held her closer. 
He knew the importance of physical contact 
in the intense cold. 

He felt instinctively that she did not mis- 
understand his motive, for she did not try to 
draw away again, nor otherwise show resent- 
ment. 

In the first rush of these characteristic 
storms a man is utterly helpless, and Trevelyan 
recognized that he was facing a losing fight 
at the very first. The snow clung to them and 
weighted them down, while slowly but surely 
the freezing wind crept into their bodies, be- 
[ i39] 


The Lady of the Snows 


numbing them with a constantly growing 
chill. His companion stumbled, showing 
signs of fatigue, and in a little while he could 
barely distinguish her voice, but he gathered 
that she knew of shelter and was trying to 
guide him to it. 

By and by she abruptly drew him to a 
standstill — without reason, so far as he was 
able to see; but the next moment he dimly 
made out a light, apparently burning against 
the solid rock. They were before a small hut, 
built against the mountain-side. Here was 
shelter from the storm, at least. 

Dread and anxiety fled as he pushed open 
the door. A final blast shrieked by, as though 
reluctant to lose them, and as it swept them in 
he saw and recognized the Indian girl who 
had taken Gloria away from him at the trestle. 
She was crouching on the floor in front of a 
brightly burning fire, over which a pot was 
bubbling and steaming, and filling the interior 
with an odor calculated to make a hungry man 
ravenous. At their entrance she sprang up 
and, running to Gloria, drew her tenderly 
down upon a bearskin rug, caressing her and 
[140] 


The Lady of the Snows 


crooning over her in her own tongue, and 
rubbing the benumbed members into life. 

By a strenuous effort Trevelyan managed to 
close the door upon the wind, and then, ex- 
hausted, he fell back against it and blinked in 
a bewildered way at the scene. Gloria, under 
the influence of incipient stupor, accepted her 
maid’s rough ministrations in a dazed fashion; 
but both were rapidly recuperating, and when 
the Indian girl brought each a bowl of hot 
soup from the steaming kettle, all ill effects 
of their experience disappeared. 

Then Trevelyan’s bewilderment gave way 
to amazement. The room was passably large 
and had been built with an eye to comfort, as 
was attested by a table, chairs, a sofa with 
many cushions in one corner, and a few rugs 
scattered about over the floor. Opposite the 
sofa stood a screen, which he afterwards 
learned concealed a tiny kitchen. A door 
opened upon a bedroom. 

So plainly did he show his astonishment at 
these appurtenances of civilization that Gloria 
was moved to enlighten him. 

“This is my tepee,” she said, with manifest 

[ 141] 


The Lady of the Snows 


enjoyment of his amazement; “it belongs to 
Tonta and me, and you are our first visitor.” 

He looked at her incredulously. “ Surely,” 
he exclaimed, “you don’t live here!” 

“Oh, no,” she answered, smiling; “we only 
come here for recreation. The cabin has been 
artfully contrived and was well concealed by 
the builders. We have never before suffered 
intrusion.” 

Trevelyan flushed scarlet at the word and 
moved toward the door. 

“Then,” he said, “I shall not be the first 
intruder.” 

But the girl sprang up with a startled cry. 

“Don’t! Perhaps I could have expressed 
myself better, but you are too keen to mis- 
judge my meaning. It would be certain death 
for you to venture out tonight. Did I not go 
back and seek you? This night, at least, you 
shall be my guest, or” — as she saw him 
waver — “my prisoner.” 

In spite of her calm superiority of man- 
ner, which decidedly nettled him, he thanked 
her. He was far from being averse to accept- 
ing her command, for he knew of many men 
[142] 


The Lady of the Snows 


who had ventured forth into blizzards never 
to return. 

She flashed a half-veiled, sidelong glance at 
him that was wholly delicious and charming. 

“ Please to observe, Mr. Trevelyan,” she 
said in a low voice, “ that the disadvantage is 
not with me — now.” 

For the first time, he felt, their odd rela- 
tionship was free from strain and stress, and 
he laughed, the easy, spontaneous laugh that 
is one of the most revealing indices to a man’s 
character. And it struck a responsive chord 
in her, for she regarded him, bright-eyed and 
smiling. 

But she quickly grew sober again, though 
she spoke gently. 

“Now curb your feverish impatience and 
let these hours that we must pass together be 
as pleasant as we can make them. I will make 
you a proposition: while Tonta is preparing 
supper, forget that you are my prisoner, and 
we will play at being friends.” 

“It’s a great game,” he drily interrupted. 

“But only a game tonight,” she added, 
quickly, and he was cast down by her patent 
[i43] 


The Lady of the Snows 


earnestness. “This can be only a truce. To- 
morrow morning you will go away, and if you 
are wise, will forget this night of storm and 
everything associated with it, as I shall. 
Come. Is it a bargain? ” 

He strode over to her and said, beneath his 
breath: 

“ It is not so easy for me to forget as it 
seems for you, so I can not truthfully prom- 
ise. As for the rest, be it as you will; only 
bear in mind that we seem to be unable to 
avoid each other, even when we try. Fate 
has sent you to me again, and this time I shall 
make no pledges.” 

Her white throat gleamed in the firelight 
and her fine eyes sparkled under their long 
veiling lashes. 

“Perhaps,” she returned, “tonight, you 
will learn a lesson, and cease being inquisitive 
about me.” But her accompanying laugh was 
nervous. She added: “I am only one of 
the very small workers in the world: what 
more would it interest you to know?” 

He did not answer; to him her speech was 
flippant, and his mood was very serious. 

[i44] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“ Come,” she went on, pointing to a cushion 
facing her across the fire glow; “sit there, 
and I shall tell you all my family history — 
all you need to know. But remember — curi- 
osity once killed a cat. The old adage doesn’t 
say so, but I am sure it was satisfied curiosity 
that proved so fatal.” 

He could not resist her fascination, and, 
wondering at it, he sank down upon the 
cushions. 


[ 145 ] 































g 

U--^l 

ft 

J J 

m 

\1iL~Jf izfl 







































UTSIDE, the wind howled and 
shrieked and tore at the win- 
dows, as if infuriated at having 
been cheated of its prey. It 
drove madly against their shel- 
ter, heaping and packing the 
snow against the door, much of 
which sifted through crevices and melted 
upon the floor. Occasionally icicles would be 
torn loose from the rocks above and precipi- 
tated upon the roof with a startling clash and 
clatter, and now and then they heard the 
thunder of a distant avalanche. 

[i49] 



The Lady of the Snows 


But the room was warm and tranquil, and 
the fire glowed and snapped and sprayed its 
flickering light over the woman’s dainty fig- 
ure, and the man concluded that it was not 
so unpleasant after all, this playing friends. 

She leaned back among the furry skins and 
cushions piled high behind her, and for a 
space closed her eyes. Her cheeks were pink 
in the ruddy glow, and the wisps of hair about 
her forehead were transmuted to polished 
copper. 

All at once she opened her eyes, and he saw 
that they were star-like in their brightness, 
and as she sat upright she addressed him. 

“My first visitor! And oh, such a solemn 
one! ” 

Trevelyan smiled in spite of himself; she 
was only a girl, in truth, — proud and high- 
spirited, maybe, but yet only a girl — and he 
had no inclination to combat her changing 
humors. He unbent and leaned toward her. 

“Well,” he returned, easily, “I too will 
play the comedy. You are laughing at me, 
I know, but perhaps that’s the privilege of 
friendship; for we are friends — tonight. 
[150] 


The Lady of the Snows 


Now for your life’s history! after which, as 
a natural sequence, I suppose mine must 
follow.” 

“ Where shall I begin?” she laughed. 

“At the very beginning. But first, the sub- 
ject of your narrative must be readily identi- 
fied — so, what is your name, and how old 
are you?” 

She challenged him with another laugh. 

“You are not fair,” she said, gaily. “The 
first question I sha’n’t answer, and the second 
is impolite.” 

“ Then,” he flung back, “ for the time being, 
I suppose I must be satisfied with * Gloria.’ 
It is a beautiful name, if incomplete. As for 
your age — pardon me, your youth — you are 
frightened.” 

“ Gloria ! ” she gasped, startled. “ How did 
you know?” 

“Never mind,” quizzically. “I’m not 
going to be communicative until I see how 
far your present mood will carry you. I know 
that Gloria is your name; how I know it 
doesn’t matter.” 

“But it — ” she began, and stopped, blush- 
ful] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ing furiously. Her gaze fell, and she sat in 
silent confusion. 

“But, what?” he urged, puzzled at this 
unaccountable turn. 

“Nothing,” she said, still ill at ease. “I 
was about to leave you an opening by resent- 
ing a familiarity. But 1 Gloria ’ is permissible 
between friends. Tell me why you think I 
am frightened.” 

He had a misgiving that she had evaded 
something, but could not guess what it might 
be; so after a doubtful inspection of her deli- 
cate features, already turned composedly to 
him, he said: 

“You are entirely dominated by the head; 
you never allow the heart to play any part 
in your life.” 

“Well,” she seemed to be giving the idea 
serious consideration, “ neither admitting nor 
denying your assertion, isn’t that the wisest 
way?” 

“No. I deny emphatically that cold rea- 
son is always wisdom.” 

“What, then, should govern one, pray?” 

“Why, I think the temperature of the blood 
[ 152] 


The Lady of the Snows 


should count, sometimes.” His look was full 
of meaning, and she once more blushed. 

He could not be sure, though, that he had 
gained much, for there was a mischievous 
sparkle in her eyes as she retorted: 

“Then I would conclude from your speech 
that you are warm-hearted, have a fiery dis- 
position, and therefore are incapable of judg- 
ment at all.” 

Some dim foreknowledge of the future 
seemed to come to him as he gazed down at 
her, notwithstanding her cleverness at parry- 
ing his attempts to penetrate her reserve, and 
he had no thought of giving up. Instead, he 
said with assurance: 

“Have your own way for tonight. I do 
not pretend to be a magician or a diviner, but 
I believe you will never go out of my life 
again.” 

Her face was very lovely in the soft fire- 
light, but at this speech the smile faded from 
her lips. Across the warm mood of laughter 
a chill fell. He was watching her closely, 
and was grieved to see the friendly light of 
her eyes give way to a sudden flash. But her 
[i53] 


The Lady of the Snows 


speech, save that it was a bit constrained, 
betrayed no change of temper. 

“Although we are only playing at friend- 
ship, n she said, “you are testing my hospi- 
tality frightfully; take care that it doesn’t 
break under the strain.” Then with another 
abrupt shift of humor she dazzled him again 
with her smile. “Take what the gods allow 
and demand no more,” she concluded, “lest 
you receive nothing.” 

“You speak as from some cloud-capped 
tower,” returned he, still trying to keep pace 
with her changing moods, “ and I, poor mor- 
tal, so far below, can only listen, and wonder 
at your oracles.” 

This answer pleased her; in the proper 
spirit had he received her offer. And he saw 
between the . warm rosiness of her lips the 
gleam of white teeth, and heard the musical 
voice saying: 

“Oh, foolish man! Fate and Destiny are 
one, and Destiny has decreed that you are to 
be my prisoner tonight. I have made my 
terms: no questions asked. Shall I resort to 
chains or the dungeon, to persuade you to a 
[i54] 


The Lady of the Snows 


tractable frame of mind, or will you be 
sensible and accept?” 

She was warm, radiant, fragrant in her nest 
of rugs and cushions. Behind her raillery 
and metaphor he read a serious intent. He 
surveyed her loveliness, the brilliant eyes, the 
red lips, the coppery hair, the fine white 
hands, and the long flowing lines of her fig- 
ure; he realized that if he did not accept her 
terms, if he failed to meet her upon the level 
of her own choosing, she had the power — and 
would use it — to make their enforced im- 
murement decidedly uncomfortable for him. 
She read his hesitation and went on, before 
he could respond: 

“ You accept? Then listen: Here amid the 
mountains, in this enchanted country, I am a 
thing to be feared. For I am The Lady of 
the Snows! The Indians, giving me this 
title, say my power is great and that no man’s 
hand can frustrate my will. In their tepees 
they whisper of my power and bid all listeners 
beware. Be this as it may, I love the title they 
have given me and the illusion that it brings 
to them. And here in this tiny cabin, aloof 
[i55] 


The Lady of the Snows 


from all humanity, Tonta and I spend many 
hours of soft content, dreaming wonderful 
dreams, and seeing visions no man can fathom. 
Sometimes the world below is visible in the 
tranquil purple of a great stillness, with 
scarcely a leaf stirring. But even then we 
hear above us the shudder of an unborn storm! 
In the deep silence of the mountains we catch 
the faint first breath of the tempest; and then 
we stand straight and motionless, waiting in 
awe for its true birth. And when the swirling 
white of the mysterious snow comes in its 
fascination, wrapping us securely in its 
embrace, we live in a world of wonder. The 
Indians tell me it is dangerous to risk the 
nights and days when these snow storms come, 
but our friends are watching and seek us if 
we stay too long, and so I never fear at all — 
but I am not always idle here for I come of 
fighting stock; in my veins runs the blood of 
the French chevaliers and of Madeleine 
Vercheres, she who at fourteen held a garri- 
son a week against the savage Iroquois; but 
lest that is not enough to frighten you, hearken 
to more. 


1 156] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“ One of my grandmothers was a chieftain’s 
daughter, so that coursing in my veins is the 
red man’s blood. And mark you, this is no 
idle boast of one Canadian born; for though 
nearly all families cherish some of these tra- 
ditions, and are prolix in their telling, I have 
the proofs.” 

“Your bearing and your actions are proof 
conclusive of your words,” he said, very 
earnestly. “Twice you have saved me from 
serious peril. And now I understand the rea- 
son: your bravery is inherent; and it is at last 
quite clear to me why you love the wilds, 
why you seek the mountain-tops alone.” 

“This is my country,” she returned, mus- 
ingly, “and the wildness in my blood but 
makes me love it more, I think. Yet,” she 
gravely added, “ it is no place for the weak 
and idle. Our people walk upright, as be- 
comes free men and women ; but my country 
demands as much as she offers, and exacts 
payment in full before one can enjoy her 
thoroughly.” 

She spoke as one who knew, absolutely free 
from affectation, and the very simplicity of 
[ i57] 


The Lady of the Snows 


her utterance carried conviction. As if 
swayed by a sudden impulse, she continued: 

“Mr. Trevelyan, as an Englishman you 
perhaps know little of Canadian women, and 
it may be that you have no interest in them; 
but I should like you to know that whatever 
our faults we are never idle. The idler, 
whether man or woman, is the measure of 
Canadian contempt. Women of Canada want 
men. I mean by that, not the automatons we 
see daily passing for such, but workers, think- 
ers, masters, builders. And we look to our 
own sex to uplift as well.” 

How curiously like the first words he had 
heard her utter at Lake Louise! Then, as 
now, she was unconscious of how deeply they 
affected him; but they did affect him, and 
his face flushed scarlet as he listened. He 
knew that, if she were to learn of his slothful 
past, her contempt for him would be sweep- 
ing, definite. But she was not done speaking, 
and he again gave her his undivided attention. 

“Today on the mountain-top I refused you 
my name. It seemed then quite unnecessary 
that you should know it, and even now I can 
[158] 


The Lady of the Snows 


see no reason why you should care to hear it; 
but you are my guest, you have asked the 
question, and in common courtesy I will not 
refuse longer. 

“I am Gloria Templeton, a Secret Service 
Inspector, employed and paid by the Gov- 
ernment.” 


[1591 




















REVELYAN was stunned, in- 
capable of understanding. The 
idea was too preposterous to be 
possible. That G. Templeton, 
the Indian Inspector, and this 
beautiful, refined girl before 
him were one and the same was 
simply unbelievable. And even as he took the 
tiny gold star she handed him, which attested 
the truth of her words, he stared dazedly at 
it, still speechless and uncomprehending. 

Yet, she was sitting opposite him, amused 
at his stupefaction, as if the declaration she 

[163] 


The Lady of the Snows 


had so serenely uttered was not about the most 
extraordinary that such a young woman could 
make. 

Then, little by little, he began to grasp the 
thing. The fact fully accounted for her pres- 
ence at Maple Crossing, and he understood 
for the first time that his efforts to find her 
had been purposely obstructed. Here, verily, 
was a new type of woman, one which to him 
was distinctly strange and marvellous. She 
was not a “new woman,” of which peculiar 
— but not rare — avis he entertained a dimly 
terrifying conception, because unlike the Eng- 
lish suffragette she did not offensively thrust 
her views upon a defenseless audience; she 
evidently was too busy realizing them. In 
Saskatchewan, a few months before, he had 
met the daughter of an army officer who had 
talked Rights to him, and bored him exceed- 
ingly. But this girl — Gloria — Gloria Tem- 
pleton — was unlike any other he had ever 
met or dreamed of. Buoyant and courageous 
out here on the borderland, where women 
apparently had many burdens, she showed her 
wings of strength in the calm confidence of 
[ 164] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ultimate success. Her eternal optimism was 
visible in her every utterance, and was one 
of her chiefest charms. Soft-voiced, gentle, 
cultivated, exquisite, one could scarcely con- 
ceive of a greater anomaly than her professed 
calling, and yet her work had proved her 
exceptionally capable. 

I cannot pretend to explain the power and 
witchery carried by a pair of brown eyes, but 
when the whole face is glorified by a distract- 
ing blush, as beautiful as the dawn, and the 
low forehead is crowned by a wonderful mass 
of brown hair rippling in shades of coppery 
gold, you can imagine, I am sure, his con- 
fusion. 

“After all,” she went on, simply, her gaze 
upon the fire, “when you know the facts, 
what I have just told you will not seem so 
remarkable. My father also represented the 
Government, was for many years one of its 
most efficient agents, and all of my earlier 
years were spent on the borderland. I learned 
to know the Indians better than my own race. 
I was formally adopted into the Blackfeet 
tribe; I have lived with them for months at 

[165] 


The Lady of the Snows 


a time, which will account for my intimate 
knowledge of their habits of life and thought, 
and such influence as I may have over them. 
Tonta is my foster sister. 

“ So you will see how naturally I fell into 
the position I now occupy. I was thoroughly 
familiar with my father’s work; indeed, we 
followed it together, and I merely took up 
his share where he laid it down.” 

He could only look at her in sheer admira- 
tion, and as it was an admiration too obviously 
sincere and irrepressible to contain any ele- 
ment of flattery, the girl was correspondingly 
embarrassed. She broke the pause. 

“ But it must seem odd to you, who have 
spent all your life in London, to find yourself 
settled here amid novel, unfamiliar surround- 
ings, and where you are constantly meeting 
and dealing with strange conditions. Each 
one is a fresh experience to you — and, I trust 
educative. 

“ I, too, know something of city life; I have 
seen a little of the social unrest of the pam- 
pered rich town woman, with her energies 
dammed in upon herself, wretched from idle- 
[166] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ness and lack of the wild joy of living. I 
served a year in a hospital where such women 
came to be treated for nerves.” 

His mind was still too full for speech, and 
he was well content to sit and watch and lis- 
ten to her. That she was beautiful beyond 
any womanly loveliness he had ever before 
seen, the first glimpse of her had told him; 
and now, talking with her, he discovered that 
she was built on long lines mentally. He 
found her possessed of an impulsive vitality 
that inspired him. With her generous warmth 
and her smiling eyes, she seemed to hold in 
her hand the solution of a thousand problems. 

Abruptly she was transfigured by a return 
of her former gaiety. 

“And now,” she said brightly, “what have 
you to tell me?” 

But a powerful constraint had seized upon 
him that was fatal to frankness on his part. 
Knowing her deep-rooted sentiments as he 
did, and after having hearkened to her in- 
spired exposition of them, it is not remark- 
able that he should be reluctant about laying 
before her his idle years. In truth, he was 
[167] 


The Lady of the Snows 


filled with shame at the very idea. So he 
responded lamely and uneasily, slurring that 
portion of his life that he was no longer 
proud of. 

“After listening to your story,” he said in 
a low voice, “mine will be the quietest and 
tamest of tales. I lived in England until I 
was twenty-six, and I have no history. As I 
have already told you, my name is Charlton 
Trevelyan; I am an officer of the Mounted 
Police, but until a year ago I had not the 
faintest conception of what life meant.” 

The girl, listening, made no comment; but 
if he read her expression aright, she was dis- 
appointed at this bald chronicle; it was as if 
she believed he had purposely held back 
much that was material and that she ought 
to be told. But yet he could not credit her 
with this degree of interest in him, and he set 
down the change as one more of her baffling 
moods, one that added to her mystery and 
allurement. 

They had eaten supper and, when his brief 
annal was told, they sat in silence, her eyes 
brooding upon the fire, while his never left 
[168] 


The Lady of the Snows 


off watching her face. Presently she lifted 
her head, a motion with her always imperious, 
then rose quickly to her feet and went over 
to the window. 

“See!” she cried, “the storm has passed.” 

Neither had noticed it. 

Through the small panes they could see the 
scurrying clouds, white as fleece, and the full 
moon showering the world of mountains with 
silver. Snow beset as they were, the weird, 
broken expanse of mystic white was too 
sublime not to impart a certain pleasure. It 
was a scene, with its complementary mood, 
never to be forgotten by either. 

“ Miss Templeton,” Trevelyan at last broke 
the silence, “you are going away soon to 
resume your duties, and you have said that 
you do not want me to seek you again — 
why?” 

“ Is it necessary to give a reason?” 

Wrought with delicacy as were the sure 
lines of her profile — she had not turned from 
the view — he was impressed with their firm- 
ness and strength, and deep in his heart a con- 
viction blossomed that never was a woman 
[169] 


The Lady of the Snows 


more worth fighting for, and winning. Out- 
wardly he was quite calm, but within was a 
fire of resentment that she should so persist- 
ently keep him at a distance. Said he: 

“As you have remarked, Fate or Chance — 
call it what you will — has twice thrown us 
together. To me — and I mean no disrespect 
in saying it — you have given ideas and 
brought an influence which I never expect 
to lose.” 

She turned as if to interrupt, but meeting 
his regard and reading there his seriousness, 
did not speak. 

“I repeat,” he went on, “you have said 
things tonight that I can never forget; you 
have given me an insight into the character 
of the women of the West that I never 
dreamed of; and I believe you are too broad 
to refuse to know me, just because we have 
not met in the conventional way.” 

She renewed her contemplation of the far- 
ther peaks, but was entirely conscious of his 
watchfulness of herself. It made her uncom- 
fortable. She must answer; she must say 
something. 


[170] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“It’s not that,” she began; “but what rea- 
son can there be for continuing a chance 
acquaintance? ” 

She tried to meet his gaze steadily, but it 
was like facing a searchlight. 

“ For my part,” he coolly asserted, “ there 
would be every reason; but from your stand- 
point alone I can well see that you have 
nothing to gain. I was appealing to your 
generosity, and I persist in the face of every 
obstacle you may raise. I feel that you have 
no right to refuse, simply because of the past 
lying between us.” 

She started, and her eyes searched his 
countenance with a sudden apprehensive 
eagerness. 

“Past!” she exclaimed, in a whisper. 
“What past? What do you mean?” 

He was once more puzzled by her manner. 
Catching her fugitive glance, he held it a 
moment before replying. 

“Why the fact that once you saved my 
honor and that tonight you have saved my 
life.” 

The laugh that met this contained a note of 

[ 171] 


The Lady of the Snows 


relief. But he did not understand, and smiled 
back, daringly, triumphantly. She could not 
have laughed if she was resolved to refuse. 

“What a remarkable plea!” she mocked. 
“ Because I have twice done you a service, 
you insist that I owe you another — something 
more.” 

This illogical argument that entirely ig- 
nored his premise did not deter him, and he 
in the end won a reluctant consent to meet 
him again — some time: he considered it 
advisable not to press her too far just now. 

With that they bade each other good-night 
— she and her Indian maid retiring to the 
second room, while he wheeled the couch in 
front of the fire for his own bed. And as he 
lay wakeful, his brain and heart stirred with 
emotions and thoughts far too active and com- 
plex for sleep, he planned long arguments for 
the next day, that would break down and 
destroy the barrier she persisted in holding 
between them. 

When Trevelyan awoke, it was with a shock 
of surprise that he should have slept at all; 
he seemed to have been awake the entire 
[172] 


The Lady of the Snows 


night; but it was broad day, the sun was 
streaming across his couch, and he stepped 
out cautiously, lest he waken the lady of his 
dreams. 

Outside, it was as if he glimpsed the lesser 
glories of Paradise: the fresh sparkling snow, 
the brilliant, cloudless sky, the far-off peaks 
swimming in a sea of translucent blue, the 
perfect silence that wrapped all nature, were 
immaculate symbols of Peace and Purity. 

And then he saw in the snow a woman’s 
fresh footprint, and his heart seemed to sink 
into some bottomless abyss, and there cease 
beating; for that footprint, and the others 
which his startled glance soon discovered, all 
leading away from the cabin, told him that 
she and Tonta had gone. And when he found 
her note upon the table he sat a long time 
holding it in his hand, trying to revive his 
dashed spirits and muster up courage to read 
it. The expectant joy of the morning was 
gone for him. 

The mountains in their robes of snow sud- 
denly became disagreeable to his sight, the 
sky with its brilliant blue, and the white 
[ i73] 


The Lady of the Snows 


clouds like shimmering veils, were positively 
ugly to his eyes. 

She had meant what she said, then; she 
would pass from his life without giving him 
another thought; the night would slip from 
her memory as lightly as she had bade him 
dismiss it from his. But as he held her un- 
opened note in his hand he knew the recollec- 
tion of that night would remain with him 
always, that its radiance would live forever 
in his heart, whether he saw her again or not. 
Then he read her letter. 

It held for him one tiny gleam of hope: 
she promised to give him one day; promised 
it grudgingly, even unkindly, still it was a 
promise. “You hold my word,” she had 
written, “ and though in calmer thought I 
regret its giving, the day shall be yours. 
However, remember,” she had added mali- 
ciously, “ the time and place shall be of my 
own choosing. It may be at once, and it may 
be years hence; of that I alone shall be judge. 
When I am ready, Tonta will find you. Till 
then, I beg of you, forget 

Gloria Templeton.” 
[174] 




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IGH above the foaming river, 
the national buildings at Ot- 
tawa were radiant in the eve- 
ning glow. Northward, across 
the tawny flood, the Chelsea 
Hills of the Laurentian Range 
uplifted their shaggy heights. 
In the valley between a rainbow might have 
been shattered, for the ground was a garden 
of wild flowers right down to the river brim. 
And over all was the glory of the setting sun. 

The dull gray stone walls of the convents 
and churches, with their pointed towers, were 


The Lady of the Snows 


transfigured into burnished gold, and every 
glass in the windows facing the west was a 
flaming oblong. 

Slowly the blazing glory faded to a duller 
red; the purple shadows gathered and deep- 
ened into gray darkness; and with the drop- 
ping of night there flashed from the lofty 
tower of the Parliament Building a finger of 
dazzling white light. It informed the people 
far and near that their representatives were 
assembled for the purpose of considering 
some matter involving the Dominion’s wel- 
fare. 

The House of Commons had hearkened 
that day to a man whose wisdom they ad- 
mired and whose advice they frequently 
sought, and the speaker’s resounding elo- 
quence was still casting its spell about his 
hearers. For His Grace, the Archbishop of 
Quebec, had been invited to address them on 
a subject that lay near to his heart — Reci- 
procity with the great nation to the south. 

As he stood before them, Catholic and 
Protestant alike regarded him with profound 
respect. He represented to the fair-minded 
[i78] 


The Lady of the Snows 


a line extending from Champlain to Fronte- 
nac, and that line was illuminated by heroic 
deeds of the Catholic clergy. 

It was quite dark when the Archbishop 
concluded his address and left the House. 
He was in a contented frame of mind, for he 
knew the interest in his hobby, that had been 
so long and so slowly kindling, was at last 
fully aroused; the members would sit late, 
discussing and debating his speech. 

Hilaire du Bertrand saw visions and 
dreamed dreams of his country’s greater fu- 
ture, and he worked with unabating zeal for 
their fulfillment. His intellectual brow, his 
piercing eye, his firm mouth and strong chin 
invested his visage with a rare force and dig- 
nity, and his utterances carried weight. He 
accepted the respect and admiration that had 
been this day accorded him, not as a tribute 
to himself, but, in the simplicity of his nature, 
to his riper knowledge and broader under- 
standing of a subject upon which they were 
less informed only because they had not taken 
the trouble to study it. He gave himself no 
credit for the fact that his dream seemed 
[i79] 


The Lady of the Snows 


about to be realized; his philosophy respect- 
ing it was as simple as himself: Right was an 
invincible force, requiring only to be under- 
stood to prevail; Reciprocity was right; 
therefore it needed but a medium to present 
it to the people, and the rest would follow 
of its own accord. He had been the humble 
instrument to start a great force working for 
the common good; political juggling and 
other selfish interests might delay, but no 
earthly power could alter, the final outcome. 

So, with his mind well satisfied and his 
heart full of gratitude over the promising 
condition of his hobby, His Grace directed 
his thoughts to another matter that was occa- 
sioning him considerable concern. This was 
his ward, Patricia Sutherland. 

In the education of his ward he had laid 
particular stress on the cultivation of self- 
reliance. And he had given her an incentive 
in life by developing in her a love of philan- 
thropy. Believing women — and especially 
society women — tire of the frivolities, and 
are happier for some solid background, he 
had taught the little Patricia that her love for 
[180] 


The Lady of the Snows 


the Indians might do much good; and as an 
ardent Catholic the thought that she was edu- 
cating them was giving her much satisfaction. 
Of late years, the wisdom of his labor was 
bearing fruit: she was able to decide all ques- 
tions for herself. Yet now he felt, for the 
first time, her self-reliance would cause him 
trouble because for the first time their ideas 
were diametrically opposed as to what consti- 
tuted the best for her. His ideas for her 
happiness were completely at variance with 
her own. 

To begin with, her letters of late were not 
of their accustomed tone; just wherein the 
difference lay his clear-seeing vision had been 
unable to determine, and this, with the cer- 
tainty that there was a change, troubled him. 
It seemed to him that she was writing around 
whatever was uppermost in her mind, instead 
of expressing herself candidly and fully, as 
had been her wont. He was disappointed 
that her attitude toward Trevelyan was still 
inflexible, and he shrank from the conclusion 
that she was unnecessarily hard and unjust 
for a girl of her years and intelligence. The 
[1S1] 


The Lady of the Snows 


sweeping change the young man had made in 
his life, notwithstanding the fact that her 
principal grounds of objection had thereby 
been removed, had not in the least softened 
her toward him. If anything, she was firmer 
than ever in her determination not to see him, 
and during her frequent weeks with her 
guardian, for her home was really with him, 
she evaded the topic as much as possible. The 
Archbishop now recalled many scraps of con- 
versation from their various interviews dur- 
ing the past months and mentally reviewed 
them; but the exercise afforded him little joy. 

One in particular he remembered: they 
were seated at dinner. The table was glitter- 
ing with crystal and silver, and brilliant with 
light, flowers, and spotless napery; facing 
him, white-throated and bare-armed, sat 
Patricia Sutherland. 

He had chided her with being hard- 
hearted. 

“ Never to you, Uncle,” she had smiled 
back. 

“Your filial love would not let you feel 
otherwise,” His Lordship had observed, re- 
[182] 



You have health and brains, Patricia, and you have beauty 

said the Archbishop 





The Lady of the Snows 


garding her affectionately. “And because 
you are like a daughter to me, my thoughts 
are troubled about your marriage.” 

She had met this with a shrug of her pretty 
shoulders that was altogether charming. 
“ Uncle,” she had lightly retorted, “you know 
how busy I am and how I love to be with 
you; these rare moments pilfered from my 
work are just the happiest and most restful I 
know; then why spoil our pleasure by bring- 
ing up a distasteful subject?” 

Distasteful — he had not liked the word, 
and it had pained him to observe that she 
meant it. 

On another occasion he had said: 

“You have health and brains, Patricia, and 
you have beauty such as God gives his crea- 
tures only for good purposes. Why will you 
not meet Charlton Trevelyan?” 

“There is time enough for that before the 
marriage,” had been her impatient answer. 

“ My dear, there should be no considera- 
tion of marriage unless you find congeniality, 
and” — whimsically — “you can not discover 
that at such a distance.” 

[183] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“ There is no necessity of studying each 
other. I am willing to fulfill my part of the 
bargain, and he wants the money.” 

“ Patricia,” the Archbishop had sadly re- 
joined, “ 1 am an old man, and I know some- 
thing of youth. Believe me, you have mis- 
taken the Englishman.” 

“ I think not,” had been her calm reply. 
“ I know the variety.” 

“You must at least admit that he is trying 
to do something with his life,” he had urged. 

“ I will not admit it,” she said, hotly. “ He 
is doing it only for a purpose, I believe. He 
is shrewd and wise, and has already partly 
won you by the trick.” 

“ How bitter you are, Patricia.” 

Red and white roses had warred in her 
cheeks as she answered him: “No, I am only 
truthful. I shall never believe in him, never 
respect him; but I shall marry him.” 

“Ah,” His Grace had said, rising with her, 
“if you are so determined, I can only wait 
and pray. But you are mistaken in one thing 
you said, Patricia. You asserted he was win- 
ning me, while he has already won. I sur- 
[184] 


The Lady of the Snows 


rendered completely before I had known him 
two weeks.” 

However, as he considered the troublesome 
subject in all its perplexing aspects, a possi- 
bility was finally suggested to him which in 
a measure abated his worry. He knew the 
girl’s intense pride, and fully comprehended 
its nature. It was the sort of pride that is 
free from vanity and self-conceit, and upon 
which lofty ambitions and pure purposes 
flourish to complete fruition. 

Now, it might be that she was battling with 
that pride, and if such were the case the 
struggle was a bitter one, which outside inter- 
ference could only intensify. She must be 
left to fight it out alone, His Grace being con- 
vinced that the very instinct now up in rebel- 
lion would in the end guide her aright. 

In a letter to Trevelyan, he wrote that 
night : “ Young people of the present day are, 
to my mind, too self-centered, and my ward, 
in her determination not to see you yet, is a 
little unreasonable. I have told her that I 
am already your ally, and I may say here that 
the alliance is being strengthened by the news 

[185] 


The Lady of the Snows 


I get of you. Indeed, for a young man whose 
attention has never been turned to the prac- 
tical things of life, I can say without flattery 
that you have proved your worth, that your 
instincts were sound, and that your ambition 
and your will to carry it out were only asleep. 

“You evidently were born with common 
sense; that, I am sure, is the secret of your 
success. Without it you never, in so short a 
time, could have secured such a hold in 
Canada. 

“But this is irrelevant to my letter’s pur- 
pose. It is now my intention to visit the 
farming districts, to learn how the farmers 
stand on the new propositions I have to offer 
relating to Reciprocity. Can you arrange to 
meet me? I shall write you more specifically 
of my movements as soon as my itinerary is 
determined.” 

His Grace, it will be observed, neglected 
to mention the very significant circumstance 
that Patricia Sutherland was going to accom- 
pany him on the journey. 

But even had he done so, it would have 
made little difference to Trevelyan; his 
C 186] 


The Lady of the Snows 


thoughts were now wholly absorbed by 
another. 

And the weeks were passing: the broad 
lands were yielding succulent increase. 
Slowly, but surely, Trevelyan was climbing 
the steps of success; and at the top he saw 
the smiling face of the woman who loved 
power — the woman who, though scornful, 
had promised to meet him again — and her 
beautiful countenance was that of Gloria 
Templeton! 






*■ 

, 




































FTER the night in the moun- 
tain cabin Trevelyan lived in a 
state of constant expectancy for 
days on end, though he made 
shift to follow his work, and 
never neglected it in the small- 
est detail ; for it seemed to have 
become a wholesome characteristic of the 
man that, though he had awakened late to 
life’s responsibilities, he never after forgot 
them. Yet there was not a waking moment 
that he was not alert for Tonta’s coming. 

But as day after day passed, and the two 

[191] 




The Lady of the Snows 


women seemed to have disappeared as com- 
pletely as they had at first, he was obliged 
to believe that Miss Templeton had meant 
exactly what she said: that the day would be 
given, when and where she chose. The days 
grew into weeks, and the belief was forced 
upon him that she had gone back to her duties. 

Could it be possible that she had been 
laughing at him? — that she really meant to 
let time slip indefinitely by, without telling 
him how to find her? What a fool he had 
been to trust her so implicitly 1 She had inter- 
ested him more than anybody he had ever 
met; for a long time he was unwilling to ad- 
mit that the feeling was more than this; yet 
if it was nothing more than interest, why was 
he so sore and restless at her delay? Why 
was he positively panic-stricken at the thought 
that he might never see her again? 

She had outwitted him, and had planned 
the deception even while they talked together. 

And he, with a man’s stupidity, had not 
even guessed it, he said bitterly to himself. 
Each morning he hoped anew; each night 
came fresh disappointment and dull despond- 
[192] 



He looked into the inscrutable eves of Tonta 







- 



. • 

* 
















































. 










• - 


a* 












The Lady of the Snows 


ency. And so three months came and went. 
And then at the moment when his hope was 
quite gone, like a bolt from the blue, it re- 
turned. One morning he looked up from his 
writing into the inscrutable eyes of Tonta, the 
Indian maid! 

She would see him early the next day. 

Trevelyan could hardly wait. Never had 
the minutes dragged so sluggishly; never had 
they been so horribly tiresome and empty; 
never had his nerves been so on edge. But 
dawn came at last, and with it the promise of 
a fair day. She joined him at the place 
appointed, and the sight of her was gladden- 
ing, beyond his fondest anticipations. She 
came swiftly toward him, and he delighted 
again in the imperiousness of her manner. 
The freshness of her beauty struck him anew, 
and the white dress she wore intensified the 
shadows of her hair and eyes. Her steady 
gaze was as unfaltering as his own, however, 
and her first words were something of a shock 
to him. 

“ I have come as I promised,” she began, 
evenly, “but I have come against my better 

[193] 


The Lady of the Snows 


judgment. And now that I have done so, will 
you not release me?” 

His joy was too great to be all at once 
chilled. 

“ You are not greeting me very civilly,” he 
smilingly returned. “ I understand that a 
promise here in the West is as good as a bond; 
will you break yours if I do not release you?” 

“ Certainly not!” she flung at him, haugh- 
tily — and hotly. 

“Then” — triumphantly — “I shall not re- 
lease you.” 

She eyed him coldly. “What then do you 
propose doing?” she asked. 

He kept his temper and quite ignored the 
implied hostility of her manner. 

“What a Shylock you must think me!” he 
deprecated. “ But, really, don’t you know, I 
haven’t the strength of will to let you off so 
lightly. Think of the days and weeks you 
have kept me waiting! See! I have brought 
luncheon. Let us climb up the mountain.” 

“As you please.” She bowed distantly, and 
for a while they walked in grim silence. 

At last Trevelyan spoke. Resentment at 
[i94] 


The Lady of the Snows 


her treatment of him had risen in his breast 
during the silent pause, and he addressed her 
with determination. 

“Miss Templeton, this is such a little time 
you have granted me, and though I have held 
you to your promise, can not we play at 
enjoyment, as before? You owe me that, in 
common fairness.” 

The girl did not reply. 

“I want to tell you,” Trevelyan pursued, 
“ that since that night on the mountain I have 
thought much of what you said about life. 
You have made me believe that no man with 
red blood in his veins can live here and not 
feel the truth of your words.” 

And still his companion said nothing. But 
as she turned and looked fully at him, there 
was a little cynical smile upon her lips, telling 
him that once more she was misjudging him. 
The blood flooded his cheeks, and he curbed 
the sharp rebuke that sprang to his lips. 

“Miss Templeton,” he said, quietly, “men 
are frequently misunderstood. Once upon a 
time there was a man named La Salle, and 
great as he was people did not, or would not, 
[i95] 


The Lady of the Snows 


understand him, because he gave himself up 
to an idea.” 

“Well,” she returned, “La Salle at least 
tried to live up to his idea. He desired to 
found an empire in the West. It is not often 
such an opportunity comes to a man; had he 
succeeded, ah, what could he not have been! 
But even in failure,” she added sharply, “ he 
was great because he was sincere.” 

Her voice was very earnest, but its un- 
friendly tone puzzled him completely. How 
heartily she disliked his race! His own voice 
was slightly strained as he answered her. 

“Yes, but the spirit of the West is success, 
you must admit, and the man who fails is 
always forgotten.” 

“ I do not agree with you,” said she, coolly, 
“but I do concede that the true spirit of the 
West is success. However, is not success 
often brought about by the struggling efforts 
of the many? And is not the final reaching 
of the goal frequently made possible by the 
brave men who have tried and, in the world’s 
thought, failed?” 

The man gazed at her, partly in wonder 
[196] 


The Lady of the Snows 


at her warmth, but more because of her words. 
Said he: 

“ You come of a brave race and your creed 
is inspiring; in it there is no room for failure.” 

“ Do you not feel the truth of what I say?” 
the girl insisted. “Life here can never be 
humdrum; whatever else it is, it is never that. 
And it possesses one predominating character- 
istic: there are no weak spots to bury out of 
sight.” 

“ I believe you are right,” he slowly re- 
turned, ignoring her covert sneer. “And the 
distance to London now marks the whole 
limit of my life.” 

“Does it seem so long?” 

“Yes. A year and a half has revolution- 
ized my life entirely.” 

And then she observed, with seeming irrele- 
vancy : “ England would not be a bad place 
in which to live, were it not for two things.” 

“What are they?” 

“ Englishmen and fog.” 

It was lucky for Inspector Trevelyan that 
he was gifted with a sense of humor. For, 
though it stung, he laughed aloud, and in the 
[i97] 


The Lady of the Snows 


presence of such open merriment it was ex- 
tremely difficult for the girl to retain her hos- 
tile pose. Her color heightened and she 
stared fixedly at the shimmering, sparkling 
snows high above them. 

Woman is the most potent force in the 
world to shape a man’s life. He may never 
acknowledge the fact; indeed, it is his nature 
loudly to disclaim it; but though ambition, 
inspiration, power, and the measure of his 
self-indulgence, — and failure and success as 
well — may be largely matters of heredity, it 
is the woman he desires above all others who 
makes or mars the man. 

Trevelyan did not trouble to dissect his con- 
victions in this respect, but as he stood beside 
Gloria Templeton some such thoughts were 
passing through his mind, and unconsciously 
gathering strength to mould his speech. He 
had been in her company but twice in his life, 
yet she had already influenced him as no other 
woman had, and as he was ( quite sure no other 
woman could. But why must he always be 
on the defensive with her? Why was she so 
determinedly aggressive? 

[198] 


The Lady of the Snows 


He did not recognize what prompted him, 
but all at once he felt compelled to speak 
openly. Against his will, he was swayed by 
an irresistible impulse to tell her just why he 
had come to Canada. After hearing him, 
without doubt she would find ampler justi- 
fication for her contempt than the crime of 
his having been born an Englishman; but still 
he wanted her to know. 

He made a quick decision ; he would speak, 
no matter what the consequences might be. 
As far as he was concerned, there could be 
only peril in half measures between them; 
and no matter how she might look upon the 
sorry aspects of his engagement, and the poor 
figure he cut regarding it, she must be told. 


[ 199 ] 










HE was seated upon a boulder, 
and he was lying at full length 
at her feet. They were resting 
before resuming their climb. 

While apparently engrossed 
in the magnificent prospect of 
mountain and valley, she con- 
trived to subject him to a pretty thorough scru- 
tiny. The broad-brimmed “ Stetson” became 
his lean, bronzed face, and the clear blue eyes 
were certainly pleasant to see. His long, 
clean lines signified uncommon physical 
strength and suppleness. As a woman she 
[203] 


The Lady of the Snows 


could not avoid taking heed of all these de- 
tails, and her mind was uncomfortably agi- 
tated that she should notice them. 

He glanced keenly at her intelligent face, 
and, as always, was thrilled with her won- 
derful beauty. But his admiration was tem- 
pered by a consciousness of her unfriendly 
spirit — never had he encountered one so 
plainly marked. He roused himself abruptly 
to say: 

“Miss Templeton, please look at me.” 

She did so, openly, with a start of surprise 
and with an air of grudgingly conferring a 
favor. Then he went on : 

“ It is not charity to discredit one as you 
do me — and without the slightest shadow of 
excuse, either.” 

This unexpected attack startled her. She 
winced, and a wave of color swept across her 
face. 

“Would it alter matters if I had a rea- 
son?” she tartly demanded. 

“Most assuredly it would,” Trevelyan 
earnestly replied, “because then we could 
fight fairly.” 


[204] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“And now?” — with a haughty uplifting of 
her eyebrows. 

“Now,” he said, slowly, “you cling stead- 
fastly to a most unfair judgment, one that you 
arrived at before granting me a hearing.” 
The man’s gaze was curiously steady and 
penetrating as he looked at her, and for a full 
minute she sat silent. 

“ What if I did not think about you at all? ” 
she finally ventured. 

Again the blood suffused his face, but he 
held himself firm. 

“You mean, of course, that I am presump- 
tuous in supposing you to be the least inter- 
ested in my life. Well, if I listened to reason, 
undoubtedly I would appeal to a more merci- 
ful judge. Yet, because of your very un- 
friendliness, I am all the more determined 
that you shall hear what I have to say.” 

She was stirred by a sudden emotion that 
made her heart beat wildly. Try as she 
would to array the many reasons for her indif- 
ference, they fled now before the man’s com- 
pelling personality, which stood revealed 
before her. All her haughty reserve and ad- 
[205] 


The Lady of the Snows 


mirable poise trickled away in an uneasy little 
laugh. 

“Well,” she said, with assumed sprightli- 
ness, “let me hear the story; from your ex- 
pression, it must be tragic.” 

He remained now wholly imperturbed. 

“ Mine is not a long story,” he said, gravely, 
“and it contains no heroic deeds; nor is it 
like your own life, full of usefulness.” And 
then he began. He made no effort to appear 
unblameworthy for the shiftless content he 
had enjoyed, nor his quiet acceptance of the 
bargain that would give him money, through 
a rich wife; but it was bitterly hard for him 
to dwell upon his willingness to go through 
life without ambition of any sort. He fin- 
ished by saying: 

“ I was a toy of that huge organization 
called Society. My ideals were not lofty, as 
you see; to me a lazy content was sufficient; 
then suddenly came my awakening; and now, 
after eighteen months of clean, manly work, 
I am able to realize what a miserable creature 
I was.” 

Trevelyan drew a deep breath as he fin- 

[ 206] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ished; she knew the very worst of him now, 
and though he felt humbled, he was sensible 
of a tremendous relief. 

There was an unnatural calmness in Miss 
Templeton’s voice when she spoke, but Tre- 
velyan was as yet too agitated to notice it. 

“And the young lady,” she asked, “ to 
whom you were engaged, of course she was 
equally pleased at the release you so freely 
offered?” 

“That,” said Trevelyan, grimly, “is the 
unfortunate part of it. She did not seem to 
be. There certainly was nothing romantic 
about our engagement. We have seen each 
other only once, in early childhood. She has 
shown me time and again that release would 
be welcome, and yet when I offered to 
release her she refused to accept it.” 

There was a curious light in the girl’s eyes, 
and her color was heightening. 

“Wh — when did you offer to release 
her?” she asked, somewhat breathlessly. 

“The morning after I met you on the 
mountain,” returned the man, boldly. His 
level, searching gaze held hers. “ It seemed 
[20 7] 


The Lady of the Snows 


to me that I could not in honor hold her to 
it longer.” 

Miss Templeton’s eyes fell before his. 

“But,” she persisted, in a lowered voice, 
“you are still engaged.” 

“ If you call the condition I have described 
being engaged, yes. We are to meet in a few 
months. She has written me that if I still 
want to release her after our meeting, she will 
gladly accept; but till then I must hold 
myself bound.” 

A provoking smile flitted over the girl’s 
face. “And do you hold yourself bound?” 
she queried. 

“ Only until I see her,” the man answered, 
looking deep into her eyes. 

She reddened, but found voice to ask: 
“And what brought about your awakening to 
duty? You said that a curious thing had 
determined you.” 

“ Strange to say, it came through a woman.” 

Gloria gasped. 

“A woman!” 

“Yes, a woman — one whose face I did 
not see.” 


[208] 


The Lady of the Snows 


This puzzled the girl, and she regarded 
him doubtfully. 

“Who — where does she live?” she asked 
at length. 

“ I can not tell you, for I do not know. 
But her words, and the splendid character 
they revealed, awakened me — confirmed my 
wavering purpose — and I owe her a debt of 
gratitude that I can never repay.” 

“ How strange!” murmured the girl in an 
odd voice. “ What a pity she can not know ! ” 

“She shall,” said the man, “some day. I 
owe her that.” 

“You mean that you will find her?” 

“Yes. I have often wondered whether she 
would care to hear.” 

“ If she is a true woman she will,” asserted 
Gloria. “Oh, to influence a man like that! 
How wonderful it would be!” 

And like a flash of blinding light, jealousy 
gripped her and startled a protesting cry to 
go ringing through her brain. Why should 
this unknown woman have influenced him? 

She steadied herself. This man was 
nothing to her, and never would be, yet his 
[209] 


The Lady of the Snows 


disclosure had disturbed her powerfully, and 
filled her with an inexplicable wonder and 
discontent. 

With features a trifle drawn, his voice 
strained, Trevelyan abruptly leaned toward 
her and demanded: 

“What would a woman say to a man who 
had tried? What would you say?” 

And now she met his gaze unflinchingly. 

“I — why should I say anything to such a 
man?” She laughed nervously. 

Trevelyan had not stirred. 

“ Because the man asked you to? ” he urged. 
“ Because he desired, above all things, to have 
your opinion? — your approval?” 

It was a crucial test of faith between them, 
and the woman knew, as did the man, that, in 
spite of all antagonism, she would answer 
truthfully. 

She tossed back her head and answered with 
splendid audacity: 

“Why, in that case I should say to him: 
1 There is no limit to what you may attain; 
success shall be your portion.’ ” 

“In all things?” he asked, hoarsely. 

[210] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“ How could such a man fail?” she par- 
ried. 

“And his goal at the end,” Trevelyan 
breathed heavily, “ the thing he wanted most 
in the world — could he hope for that?” 

The moment was a tense one for both. The 
fierce earnestness of the man frightened the 
woman ; but, in spite of that fear, she met his 
glance bravely, answering: 

“If a man like that wanted the stars, I 
believe he would get them.” 


[211] 


















HE afternoon sun flaunted its 
splendor of blue and gold like 
a banner. Away below, where 
Trevelyan and Gloria Temple- 
ton were resting, a long narrow 
lake, encircled by mountains, 
shimmered and sparkled in the 
sunshine. With an effort the girl stripped the 
situation of its intimacy. 

“Let us mount to the crest !” she cried 
gaily, springing from her boulder seat. 

The man smiled consent. A sense of isola- 
tion from all the rest of the world filled him 

[215] 


The Lady of the Snows 


with an intense joy, while the silence of the 
landscape, the pure snows, and the peaks of 
ice gave him a spirit of aloofness that was 
dangerously sweet. In the inner chambers 
of his heart Trevelyan knew that this vision 
of her by his side would journey with him 
always. If nothing more came to him he 
would have this, and the wonderful night 
upon the mountain ; for that night he had been 
with the woman he loved, though only now 
he realized it. In storm and dark they had 
spoken; she had leaned upon his breast; his 
arm had supported her; and through it all she 
had shown him life as it should be lived. 

And he was newly aflame with desire to 
live in accord with her ideals. Through her, 
at Lake Louise, had come his awakening, like 
the kindling dawn, mastering him, stamping 
out the old bondage of idleness and sloth ; and 
the desire for something worth while was 
born, endowing him with the true spirit — 
the spirit of achievement! 

Before he was awar e of it, the day was 
nearly gone — the one glorious day she had 
promised him. And it had been ail that he 
l 21 6] 


The Lady of the Snows 


had anticipated, and more. Since his con- 
fession a change had come over her, her man- 
ner had perceptibly softened, and she had 
played the game fairly — had, anyway, pre- 
tended to enjoy it. Across the serrated ridges, 
down into the valleys, and up again they had 
wandered, pausing for lunch beside a crystal 
stream, ice-cold with the higher melting 
snows, that rushed past and plunged in a rib- 
bon of spray a thousand feet below. 

And now, in the setting sun, it was to be 
good-bye. His pulses throbbed. Did the 
moment hold any special significance for her? 
Or was she merely playing the game fair, as 
he had begged her to do, and would the part- 
ing be a relief? He watched her closely. 

What a woman she was! Birth and breed- 
ing were her portion, nerve, generosity, mys- 
tery. The last he acknowledged as the 
comprehensive element of feminine allure- 
ment. And she was capricious, too ; but, even 
though capriciousness can at times be cruel, 
always wholly charming and to be desired. 

They paused at the last descent leading to 
the settlement and watched the sunset. Awed 
[217] 


The Lady of the Snows 


by the majesty of the scene, neither for the 
time being had thought for words ; but at last 
she turned and saw that he was watching her. 
Her color instantly brightened, and she 
spoke eagerly, almost apologetically, as if she 
wanted forgiveness for her previous incivili- 
ties, by showing interest in him now. 

“Mr. Trevelyan, will you always live in 
this country?” 

“I hardly dare think that I am needed 
here,” he replied. “And yet” — he gestured 
toward the landscape — “I love it.” 

She appeared to consider briefly. She had 
dropped her mask of reserve — a circumstance 
that bewildered him all the more — and 
seemed to be taking a genuine interest in his 
life. 

“ How can you even hesitate in your de- 
cision!” she chided. Then she continued 
warmly : 

“ The women you know would never have 
done what I have, I suppose; would never 
have expressed themselves as I have expressed 
myself; but I am a spoiled member of my 
sex. Here, in the West, women have some- 
[218] 


The Lady of the Snows 


thing to study besides etiquette and personali- 
ties. Women help to make history.” 

“You mean, that women in cities lead pur- 
poseless lives?” he encouraged her, pro- 
foundly interested in every sentiment she 
introduced. 

“Yes, just that,” she replied. 

He smiled. “ I fancy they would not agree 
with you, for their lives are very strenuous.” 

“True, but so purposeless. Among these 
snow mountains how trifling and petty life in 
a great city seems! All women, of course, 
do not lead the life I speak of; there are ex- 
ceptions. They are the favored few who 
have heard the call. But the majority of city 
women are ignorant of life’s possibilities; 
they live and die without knowing what the 
world might have held for them. Out here in 
this great Western world of mountain and 
prairie, who could miss the joy and greatness 
of life!” 

Trevelyan felt himself to be in an unreal 
atmosphere, as he listened; his senses were 
tingling with the full fascination of an intelli- 
gent woman’s sympathy. 

[219] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“Well,” he said, with a faint gleam in his 
eye, “ is this a psychological moment? And 
am I to furnish you a subject for history?” 

“Now, you are laughing at me;” then, 
more soberly, “ It is not of my country’s his- 
tory that I speak, but of your future.” 

His heart leaped. For a long moment 
something held him mute. For all the con- 
versation was so light, he recognized a force- 
ful, vital undercurrent of purpose, and he 
knew that his answer would mark the turning- 
point of his life. 

What should he say? 

About them was the golden light of the 
sinking sun, softening the rough edges of the 
mountains. His thoughts fled across the 
seas: had he turned his back upon his birth- 
right, or had he found it here? For an in- 
stant his heart sank at the recollection of 
home. 

Gloria stood motionless, but he was keenly 
aware of her presence. What was there in 
this woman that called out the best in a man? 
She was like a woman of the early races 
built on lines of majesty and strength, he felt 
[220] 


The Lady of the Snows 


instinctively she could never fail. A faint 
fragrance about her hair, the color and 
warmth of her femininity threw out their 
spells, and his irresolution vanished. He 
looked down at her, for tall as she w r as, his 
height was even greater. For the moment 
realization of his strength gave him physical 
pleasure: she was splendid, vital, dynamic; 
but he was anything save a weakling himself. 

“Your great Northwest,” he began, “there 
is a germ of madness in it! I believe the 
spell of its enchantment has me fast.” 

She glanced up quickly. 

“ I shall remain,” he concluded. 

There was a light of exaltation in her eyes 
that he could not comprehend; her lovely 
countenance was transfigured, and the respon- 
sive joy that welled up in his heart was almost 
intoxicating. 

“You will not regret your decision,” she 
said warmly. 

And yet, with the perfect closing of their 
halcyon day she refused to see him again! 
Tonta was waiting at the foot of the moun- 
tain, and this was to be the end. 

[221] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“Why do you desert me at this crucial 
moment?” he began. “I need your friend- 
ship. Will you not give it to me?” The 
eagerness in his face was great; this much he 
would have of her in spite of all ties, he said 
to himself. He held out his hand and 
stepped in front of her as he spoke. “ I will 
wait here until you consent,” he said smil- 
ingly, and though his heart throbbed madly 
his demeanor was calm. 

She stepped aside quickly before he could 
touch her hand, and as the red flamed in her 
face she flung back her head. It was her 
loveliest attitude, but she answered defiantly: 
“What you ask is impossible. Friendship 
means much when it is given, and my soul is 
at variance with yours.” 

In spite of the answer Trevelyan still barred 
the way. He was reckless because of her 
refusal. He would gain her yet, only he must 
fight harder. 

Trevelyan was a man who could face col- 
lectedly any ordinary crisis, but this girl’s 
unreasoning obstinacy was confusing. Why 
was she so determined — nay, stubborn? But 
[ 222 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


in spite of opposition he would not lose her 
again; this idea dominated his mind com- 
pletely. As the time shortened he grew 
bolder, advancing reasons which, in calmer 
moments, would seem weak, and declared 
that his future success or failure depended on 
her encouragement. 

His voice was imbued with the strength of 
his personality; his pleading was even pas- 
sionate, and at times he stirred her until her 
heart beat wildly. His ardor nearly swept 
away the last vestige of her restraint. 

Both were unwilling to admit that the great 
predominating factor had entered into their 
lives. 

They were simply a man and a woman 
facing the old eternal problem of love. They 
trembled at its premonition. The primitive 
woman in Gloria fought that she might not 
be won too easily; and, bound as he was, he 
dared not ask for more than she might choose 
to grant. 

She had confessed to him during the day 
that Tonta was a niece of the Blackfoot chief, 
and that the two girls had been in a tepee 
[223] 


The Lady of the Snows 

at the encampment at the very time Trevelyan 
was interviewing the old man. 

And in the end, when Trevelyan found that 
he could not break her will, and knowing that 
the Government would withhold any infor- 
mation of her, he became humble and en- 
treated her to make it easier for him to find 
her. 

“ Let me learn of you through the old 
chief, when I am ready to come to you next 
fall,” he begged. 

She perceived, as he had meant she should, 
that there was to be no doubt about his com- 
ing to her when he was ready. But although 
it frightened her and thrilled her not a little 
that he should speak so masterfully, she would 
not have been a woman if she had not resented 
his confidence; and it was with a glint of fire 
in her eyes that she bade him a soft adieu and 
in the same breath defied him to find her 
unless she was willing to be found. 

[224] 



















ND, after all, Miss Patricia 
Sutherland was not one of the 
Archbishop’s party when In- 
spector Trevelyan met them at 
Maple Crossing. His Grace 
evinced considerable chagrin 
and disappointment when he 
approached the matter; but Trevelyan could 
not feel either of these emotions, since he had 
been ignorant of the young lady’s intention of 
accompanying her guardian. If anything, he 
was relieved that he was not obliged to face 
her amid surroundings and associations so inti- 
[227] 


The Lady of the Snows 


mately identified with Gloria. “ I am posi- 
tive, ” said His Grace, “ that Patricia did not 
deliberately contrive an occasion for avoiding 
Maple Crossing; indeed, I believe she had 
resolved to see you, that she had determined 
upon some course; but telegrams have been 
following her everywhere we went. She is a 
busy woman, you know; her vast charitable 
undertakings are numerous and very exact- 
ing.” 

“Don’t think about it,” Trevelyan cheer- 
fully returned. Then, with some hesitancy, 
he asked: 

“ Has not Miss Sutherland informed you of 
my last letter?” 

“What letter?” 

“ I wrote three months ago, releasing her 
unconditionally from our engagement.” 

His Grace was so patently shocked by this 
intelligence that it was plain the young lady 
had said nothing whatever about the letter. 
He very earnestly demanded : 

“But, my son, why so hasty? Just as she 
was beginning to relent, too!” 

The piercing eyes searched the young man’s 
[228] 


The Lady of the Snows 


very soul, and the color mounted to his 
cheeks. He steadily returned the scrutiny, 
however. 

“ I should have released her long ago,” he 
said. 

“Oh, the inconsequence of youth!” de- 
plored the Archbishop. “You are mad, quite 
mad. Lately I have been winning her to you. 
Her heart is changing, softening, for she sees 
that her grounds of objection are no longer 
tenable. Tell me, young man, how will her 
new attitude affect the situation?” 

Trevelyan was startled. “I — I hope you 
are mistaken,” he stammered. 

The other was too perplexed for immediate 
speech. He contemplated Trevelyan’s strong, 
handsome features long and intently, and 
could find no fault with what they disclosed 
of pure manliness. 

“There is something here that I am unable 
to fathom,” he said at last. “And I was 
counting so much on this meeting; it was just 
the ripe moment for removing the scales from 
the eyes of you two young recalcitrants.” 

“It is to my shame,” Trevelyan contritely 
[229] 


The Lady of the Snows 


offered, “ that I held her so long against her 
will.” 

“But, Trevelyan,” persisted His Lordship, 
“ there is surely a mistake somewhere. My 
ward told me three days ago that she was still 
engaged to you.” 

“That is because she desires to play fairly, 
I think; however, I do not consider that she 
has been, or is, fair. But I shall fulfill my 
part of the obligation — ” 

“Obligation?” interrupted His Grace. 

“ I can not regard it in any other light. I 
shall see you in Quebec.” 

The Archbishop sighed. “ My boy, when 
you two see each other all will be well, I am 
confident.” 

Trevelyan shook his head. He reflected an 
instant, then with heightened color said : 

“Your Grace, there is a vital reason why 
Miss Sutherland should release me. By my 
refusing to marry her she will gain every want 
of hers that such a union could fill, and with- 
out its very serious disadvantages. And, I 
love another woman.” 

The Archbishop was staggered. 

[230] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“Another woman!” he ejaculated, staring 
at Trevelyan as if he had presented the most 
unheard-of contingency that could possibly 
have arisen. “Wait a bit. This is a compli- 
cation I never dreamed of. Another woman 
— here — in this raw country — incredible!” 

The other could not repress a smile. 

“Nevertheless, it is true,” he said. 

“ Can you tell me about it? ” asked the older 
man, with a certain wistfulness of expression. 

“ Gladly.” 

And Trevelyan did, keeping back nothing. 
There were stages of the narration at which 
the good Archbishop nearly choked with 
amazement, or some other emotion; but at 
last his countenance settled into an impassivity 
that made the speaker wonder what his 
thoughts were. 

But he was not enlightened. At the re- 
cital’s close, His Grace, with chin on breast 
and hands clasped behind him, fell to pacing 
slowly to and fro. Five minutes — ten min- 
utes — passed before he came out of his medi- 
tation. When he paused before Trevelyan, 
who had been growing slowly uneasy, his face 
[23 1] 


The Lady of the Snows 


was still inscrutable, but in a moment his eye 
twinkled. 

“ I am profoundly curious to learn just what 
will happen when you lay the matter before 
Patricia,” he said. 

Now, Trevelyan was immensely relieved 
that the Archbishop should take his disclosure 
so philosophically; yet he was not a little 
puzzled by the manner of that taking. He 
had rather dreaded the interview. In the 
utter simplicity of his innocence, did His 
Grace for a moment imagine that a view of 
Miss Sutherland’s refined charms must cause 
him to forget a passing fancy, such as this 
“raw country” might provide? Or was he 
actually enjoying the young people’s predica- 
ment? He did not like to think this. 

He did not let the matter perplex him for 
long, however. His week’s furlough spent 
in the prelate’s company was in every way 
thoroughly enjoyable. The subject of his 
marriage was not again brought up or 
alluded to in any way, until the moment of 
parting was at hand; the Archbishop then 
gave him one hand and placed the other upon 
[232] 


The Lady of the Snows 


his shoulder, regarding him meanwhile with 
a shrewd, knowing look. 

“ My son,” said he, “ are you quite sure you 
love this other woman?” 

“ Quite sure” — simply. 

“And does she love you?” 

“ I do not know. How can I tell her of 
my love until I am free?” 

“ Right, my son,” he heartily endorsed this 
sentiment. “Your determination to wait does 
you credit.” Then a quizzical light twinkled 
in his eye. “This is a queer world — a queer 
world. We poor mortals are presumptuous 
enough to try to shape the future, to anticipate 
the Divine Will, and lo! all our labor is in 
vain ; the results rise up and mock us.” 

Trevelyan here expressed his satisfaction 
that the Archbishop should accept the sit- 
uation so complacently. Another twinkle 
came into His Grace’s eye, and he gently 
patted the shoulder upon which his hand 
rested. 

“ My son,” said he, with dry humor, “your 
choice of words is not always felicitous. 
Complacently? That shows how much you 

[233] 


The Lady of the Snows 


know about it! Why, it is only my philosophy 
that keeps me from exploding.” 

And leaving the young man to mull over 
this enigmatical observation, he disappeared 
inside the Pullman. 


[234] 
























A 






















« 






HAT subtle force is it that 
imparts to certain natures pre- 
monition of impending misfor- 
tune? Psychologists have 
dragged the process, with its 
attendant phenomena, from the 
occult, and defined it pretty 
well to their own satisfaction ; but the vague 
sense of threatening disaster which sometimes 
weighs down the spirit must ever remain a 
mystery to the unenlightened mind. 

After the Archbishop’s departure, Colonel 
Trevelyan, for he had received his promotion, 

[237] 


The Lady of the Snows 


was conscious of such a feeling; a heavy, 
apprehensive sensation, which he set down to 
reaction following his week of fresh and novel 
experience. But as the days passed and grew 
into weeks, and the strange spells came over 
him with increasing frequency and intensity, 
he began to wonder and to become consciously 
restless and uneasy. Perhaps he would be 
suddenly startled from the absorption of his 
work into darting a keen glance out over the 
empty prairie, as if some delicate inner per- 
ception had divined the source of threatening 
danger; and he began to notice by and by that 
his eyes always sought the same point of the 
compass — the North. 

What did the unbounded wilderness that 
lay there beyond the horizon’s rim hold for 
him? What was the cause of this haunting 
foreboding? 

Closely identified with this vague but none 
the less real disturbance was Gloria Temple- 
ton, for his mind dwelt on her continually. 
What had become of her? Never a word 
from her, never a sign ; and he was profoundly 
discouraged, knowing that his was not the 
[238] 


The Lady of the Snows 


privilege to write to her until he had broken 
completely with Miss Sutherland. 

Was ever a man so beset? And yet his 
predicament was not without its comical side. 
He was in love with one woman, and engaged 
to be married to another between whom and 
himself a very lively antipathy existed; and it 
looked pretty much as if he would have to 
forsake the one and cling to the other — delib- 
erately renounce his heart’s desire for the most 
unwelcome of substitutes. 

But the Gloria of his dream was tender 
and kind, while the Gloria he knew was 
haughty and disdainful. Only rarely had she 
softened and unbent, but it was these cherished 
moments that colored his imaginings and by 
which he estimated her character. And on 
that last, that never to be forgotten day to- 
gether, she had shown a real interest in him; 
could she have gone back into her world 
believing that he would not seek for her? No. 
And until she definitively ended all fellowship 
between them, he was grimly determined to 
persevere in his efforts to win her. 

So it happened that he was in rather a mor- 

[239] 


The Lady of the Snows 


bid state when the electrifying telegram came 
to him at his depot. The intelligence con- 
tained in the message was aggravatingly brief 
— merely that a woman employed by the Gov- 
ernment and her escort were overdue at one 
of the stations — but he knew. From some- 
where in the northern woods her spirit had 
reached out and touched his, and the telegram 
followed simply as a confirmation of his 
misgivings. 

He was in a fever of excitement. Out- 
wardly calm, but inwardly chafing at every 
second’s delay, he and four of his men were 
in the saddle before nightfall. The rain was 
coming down in torrents and the roads were 
desperately bad, but such details were annoy- 
ing solely because they retarded the rider’s 
progress. 

As they plodded onward through the dusk 
and the night, Trevelyan resolutely considered 
all the possibilities of the case. His general 
knowledge of conditions enabled him to sup- 
ply much information which the laconic tele- 
gram had omitted. He knew, for example, 
that the Wood Crees had been very restless 
[240] 


The Lady of the Snows 


of late, trying in many ways to pick a quarrel 
with the white settlers, and while the days of 
actual Indian warfare were past, still the 
savages were capable of annoying isolated 
farmers and cattlemen, or even perpetrating 
more serious outrages if they fancied them- 
selves immune from detection and capture. 

Now, that branch of the Crees known as the 
Wood Crees were widely distributed over the 
northern forest regions, and all night long the 
little squad of Mounted Police pressed north- 
ward, every step taking them into a wilder 
and less thickly settled country and farther 
away from help, should help be needed. 
They camped only long enough at daybreak 
to give their worn mounts a rest, to snatch an 
hour’s sleep themselves, then into the saddle 
and away again. The day broke fair, but the 
going was still wretched. About noon they 
received their first news of those whom they 
were seeking. 

Pausing at a rancher’s, named Stuart, they 
learned that the missing company had rested 
there five days previously, and that they in- 
cluded a Mr. Mapleson and wife, tourists 
[241] 


The Lady of the Snows 


from Montreal; Miss Templeton and her 
Indian maid, and a number of Assiniboine 
guides, these last forming the only escort. 
They had been travelling along the regular 
routes; but from portions of conversation 
overheard by Stuart, he had gathered the idea 
that they were intending striking northward 
after a visit to the famous Alexandra mines; 
for what purpose he did not know. 

This information was so circumstantial that 
Trevelyan, combining his knowledge of the 
topography of the North with the pretty gen- 
erally known movements of the large bands 
of Indians, was enabled to decide upon an 
objective. So, abandoning all idea of trying 
to pick up the missing party’s trail, he and his 
squad headed straight for a point that must 
bring him in the neighborhood of a minor 
Wood Cree chief known as Little Pine, who 
for some time had been heading a band of 
disaffected tribesmen. 

Trevelyan gave Little Pine, as a new factor, 
much sober consideration. With more than 
two-score followers he had been openly defiant 
for several weeks. If they had molested the 
[242] 


The Lady of the Snows 


Mapleson party, the five rescuers were on the 
road to confronting an extremely serious and 
perilous state of affairs, with all the odds 
against them; while, on the other hand, if 
Little Pine should prove to be innocent of any 
offense against the travellers, undoubtedly he 
would be able to supply further intelligence 
regarding them, or be of material assistance 
in extending the search. 

In either case, Trevelyan was not long in 
choosing the only course that lay open before 
him — to push on with all speed and take his 
chances — which were desperate enough. Re- 
inforcements were out of the question without 
a long wait, and this was not for an instant to 
be thought of. 

At the end of the second day’s march from 
Stuart’s ranch, the Inspector’s worst fears were 
confirmed; the police stumbled upon a half- 
dozen or so Crees, whose precipitate flight at 
the squad’s appearance went far to justify 
their suspicions. 

The troopers were too fatigued to give 
chase; but early next morning they took up 
the fleeing Indians’ trail, and within two 

[243] 


The Lady of the Snows 


hours arrived within view of an encampment 
of considerable size. 

In a very dubious frame of mind, they con- 
templated a line of savages, both mounted and 
on foot, come crowding out and placing them- 
selves between the new arrivals and an irregu- 
lar circle of skin tepees which constituted the 
camp. Here was a serious enough problem; 
half-way measures would not do. The five 
realized that everything depended upon their 
coolness and nerve, and the extent to which 
the Indians might be of a humor to push 
resistance. 

So, with Trevelyan several lengths in the 
lead and the four constables stringing along 
carelessly behind him, as if utterly indifferent 
to the opposing force, he rode deliberately, 
without haste, straight toward the camp. Not 
until he saw that the savages had no intention 
either of giving ground or making a way for 
him did he draw rein. Then, as his squad 
slowly joined him, he sat easily in his saddle 
and coolly surveyed the sullen, lowering faces. 
Not a word was spoken ; not a move was made. 

At last his eye singled out a young, red- 
[244] 


The Lady of the Snows 


blanketed buck, whose appearance had more 
of an air of authority about it than any of the 
others. 

“ Where is your chief?” he curtly de- 
manded. 

“ I am Little Pine,” the other replied, with 
an insolence that Trevelyan did not like. 
“ What can the Scarlet Coats want with him 
that they have ridden so far and so fast?” 

Whatever lingering doubts may have re- 
mained in Trevelyan’s mind up to this stage 
were definitely dispelled by the fact that his 
entry into the camp was being resisted, and by 
the young chieftain’s oppugnant attitude. But 
he swung down from his saddle, and with the 
bridle over his arm, advanced until he stood 
face to face with the motionless savage. He 
looked the other sternly in the eye. His tone 
and mien were uncompromisingly resolute 
and compelling. 

“ How is it,” he asked, “ that you and your 
people dare interfere with the movements of 
peaceable travellers? How dare you and 
your tribe stop the white man when he passes 
your tepees?” 


[ 245 ] 


The Lady of the Snows 


The Indian noticeably quailed before this 
man’s virile strength and self-possessed mas- 
tery; Trevelyan’s personality easily dominated 
the situation, and every Indian present was 
duly impressed. Little Pine replied in a tone 
less bellicose. 

“We meant no harm to our pale-face 
brethren. Finding them alone so far from 
their habitation, we invited them to remain 
and rest with us, meaning to let them depart 
quietly in the morning. Were we to blame 
when, in the night, their ponies went lame? 
Ask them whether we have treated them as 
enemies, or with kindness.” 

Trevelyan eyed him scornfully, fully aware 
that the man was lying. 

“Listen,” he continued. “You are all 
traitors. You eat the bread of the white man, 
and yet you injure his people; for you stop 
him and hold him against his will. If you 
are doing this to anger us, or if you are plan- 
ning war against the white man, know that 
you will find him ready. Your warriors are 
like little children before him, for he will blot 
you out as the night wipes out the day.” He 
[246] 


The Lady of the Snows 


turned to the other motionless, blanketed fig- 
ures, and continued: 

“And now I am going to take your chief 
with me when I go; he must be punished like 
a little child who has not obeyed his father. 
And whether his punishment shall be greater 
or less, depends upon the promptness with 
which you restore these travellers’ ponies and 
all their possessions.” 

There was a stir among the warriors at this 
bold speech, which grew to an uproar among 
the squaws and children among the tepees. 
The four troopers ostentatiously loosened the 
flaps of their pistol holsters and held their car- 
bines in readiness. At this moment Trevelyan 
felt a warm gush of gratitude for the reputa- 
tion of the Mounted Police, which has in- 
spired in the hearts of Canadian wrongdoers, 
whether white or red, such a wholesome fear; 
for just one tense second the outcome trembled 
in the balance; then the chief folded his red 
blanket around him and spoke as if he had 
been deeply injured. 

“What has Little Pine done to cause anger? 
My brother is moon-mad when he talks 

[247] 


The Lady of the Snows 


of war. He is in the camp of friends, and the 
pipe of peace is waiting.” 

“The peace-pipe,” returned Trevelyan 
shortly, “ can not be smoked between us until 
our friends are given all their ponies and pos- 
sessions, and are allowed to join us.” 

Without another word, Little Pine turned 
away, and Trevelyan, leading his mount, 
started to follow. But the braves who still 
pressed around showed no inclination of yield- 
ing so readily. They opened up a way for 
their leader, but closed in so quickly behind 
him that Trevelyan found his own way 
blocked. 

To hesitate would be fatal. And to support 
his bold stand with the last resort — force — he 
was most earnestly desirous of avoiding. 
While doubtless he would be permitted to go 
scathless, to recede now would leave the In- 
dians absolute masters of the field and defeat 
the purpose of the expedition. 

One of those wigwams, he knew, concealed 
Gloria Templeton, The thought was mad- 
dening. Darting a glance round the circle of 
grinning, defiant faces, he was seized with a 
[248] 


The Lady of the Snows 


sudden blind, unreasoning fury, and it is more 
than likely that his next act would have been 
disastrously rash had not the crucial situation’s 
complexion been changed in a most unex- 
pected and startling manner. 

A woman’s voice — Gloria’s voice — rang 
out high and clear. 

“We are here, Colonel Trevelyan. They 
are holding us by force and trying to keep us 
silent by — ” 

The abrupt smothering of the voice had the 
effect of a live wire upon the police and tem- 
porarily disconcerted the Indians. 

In a flash Trevelyan was back in his saddle, 
madly spurring his horse straight at a levelled 
carbine along whose barrel gleamed the sin- 
ister eye of a brave plainly bent upon murder. 


[249] 

























% 


p 





N 





T IS a well known fact among 
old-time Indian fighters that 
the untutored American abo- 
rigine is not only the most suc- 
cessful bluffer in the world, 
but that when his bluff is called 
he possesses also the extraor- 
dinary faculty of retaining his dignity and 
making the other fellow feel rather cheap and 
ashamed of himself instead of triumphant. 
The difficulty lies in the impossibility of 
ascertaining whether he is merely bluffing or 
in dead earnest until after the critical moment 

[253] 


The Lady of the Snows 


— when, of course, it would be too late. 
Under certain conditions, he is an unknown 
quantity, governed by laws and influences 
unknown to the Caucasian mind, and indiffer- 
ent to many which a white man accepts as 
elemental and universal. 

As he faced the levelled carbine, Trevelyan 
did not even think of his own danger. His 
career would have ended then and there if 
the savage had been in earnest. But he 
dashed the weapon to one side. It was not 
fired. The Indians scattered before his rush, 
and in a second he and the four troopers were 
in the midst of the camp. 

In an amazingly brief space tranquillity 
reigned where a moment before had been tur- 
moil. Even before Trevelyan drew his horse 
to a standstill, every Indian was going about 
his own affairs, paying absolutely no heed to 
the police. Little Pine sat placidly smoking 
in front of his own tepee, apparently im- 
mersed in profound meditation, from which 
it seemed the height of rudeness to disturb 
him. In truth, the police were not unlike a 
quintet of ruthless Goths bursting upon and 
[254] 



Trevelyan did not think of his own danger 




























The Lady of the Snows 


shattering a scene of Arcadian peace and 
simplicity. 

But any such feeling was quickly dissipated 
from Trevelyan’s breast when he caught sight 
of Gloria’s pale face and tragic eyes. She 
and an elderly gentleman and lady had 
emerged from one of the tepees, and he saw 
at a glance that none of them had been 
harmed. 

His heart swelled at the little cry of glad- 
ness Gloria uttered as her answering glance 
met his. He quickly dismounted, and she ran 
impulsively forward and held out her hands. 
He crushed them in his. 

“ You are safe — unhurt?” she cried with a 
solicitude she did not attempt to conceal. 

“Yes,” he returned huskily. The curb he 
was putting upon his desire to gather her in 
his arms was almost suffocating him. “And 
you? Have they hurt or insulted you?” 

“Oh, no, no. Not until this morning, after 
the hasty return of a hunting party. We were 
made to stay inside a tepee and keep quiet. 
I divined that — that you — that a search- 
party was looking for us, and I have been 

[255] 


The Lady of the Snows 


nervous with anxiety over the way Little Pine 
might receive them. I recognized your voice, 
and when I called out a squaw clapped her 
hand over my mouth.” She smiled ruefully. 
“ It was not very clean.” 

He drew a long breath, and for a moment 
forgot where he stood, holding her gaze to 
his. He did not see the wretched creatures 
around, he saw only the woman he loved; 
knew she was safe, and was filled with a great 
thankfulness. Then he realized she had 
missed him as he had missed her, else why 
should the tell-tale color have mounted in her 
cheeks at sight of him? And as she looked 
upon him the answering blood leapt to his 
own. The search for the completing woman, 
whether only subconscious or not, is always 
the act of a normal man. This is one of the 
ever-present mysteries of the world, and in the 
perfect system of the ages it has lasted and will 
last forever. And though in the gamut of 
activity he makes mistakes, he never tires of 
pursuit. 

Colonel Trevelyan soon learned that the 
party had suffered no greater indignity than 
[256] 


The Lady of the Snows 


the enforced delay, excepting that the squaws 
had tormented Tonta so cruelly and persist- 
ently that Gloria had been obliged to keep the 
girl constantly with her. The Crees are one 
of the most warlike tribes of Canada and 
the Blackfeet are their hereditary enemies, 
and Tonta, being a helpless representative of 
the hated tribe, was looked upon as a legiti- 
mate object of malicious persecution. When 
Mr. Mapleson complained to Little Pine, the 
chief laughed and pronounced it “squaw 
war,” intimating that it was beneath his dig- 
nity to interfere, so the women and children 
continued their persecutions. 

The Mapleson party had camped one night 
near the Cree tepees, only to discover next 
morning that all their horses had disappeared. 
Inquiry elicited the alarming information 
that the party were at liberty to continue their 
journey, but that all the ponies had gone lame 
during the night and the Indians would keep 
them “until they were well and strong.” No 
amount of persuasion or threats prevailed 
upon the Indians to produce the horses; other- 
wise the party had not been molested and, save 

[257] 


The Lady of the Snows 


for the treatment of Tonta, had been shown 
even courtesy and kindness. 

“When Little Pine learned who I was,” 
Gloria contributed to the recital, “ he quickly 
began to regret what he had done. I believe 
he would have restored our horses pretty soon 
and sent us on our way ; the ponies would have 
gotten well as miraculously as they went 
lame; but he was in the predicament of the 
man who caught the wildcat — he didn’t 
know how to let go.” 

They were ready to start upon the south- 
ward journey in a very short time. Trevelyan 
went over to where Little Pine still sat and 
smoked, and curtly bade him get ready. The 
Cree rose up with an air of injured innocence 
and said in a solemn tone: 

“ I will go with my white-faced brother 
who speaks in hot anger, so that I may keep 
peace for my people; but I will soon return, 
and then our white friends will feel shame 
that they have taken me.” 

And with much dignity he moved away to 
get his horse, presently joining the cavalcade. 

Great beauty is always disturbing, and now 
[258] 


The Lady of the Snows 


that Trevelyan found himself again with 
Gloria it required courage to control his 
feelings. 

The morning air was fresh and keen as they 
rode along; overhead, the clouds were laced 
with silver, and the spirit of the distant moun- 
tains called to them to look and enjoy. The 
woman beside Trevelyan was an excellent 
rider, carrying herself straight and proudly in 
the saddle. The poise of her head pleased 
him; her frank smile, her serious eyes, the 
glint of her coppery hair in the sunlight, were 
to him things truly wonderful. He believed 
what she had told him, that in her veins ran 
the blood of the Chevaliers of France; and 
here among the Canadian wilds her beauty 
was as formidable as had been the power of 
her valiant ancestors. Watching her, he 
drank deep of a sparkling happiness more 
potent than wine. 

They proceeded in silence for some time, 
her gaze directed ahead as if watching some 
object intently, and he respected her disincli- 
nation to talk. Presently, however, she turned 
and faced him, and there was a light in her 

[259] 


The Lady of the Snows 


fine eyes that sent the blood sweeping to his 
face. For their look was no longer aggres- 
sive or angry. Some loose strands of hair 
fluttered from beneath her hat, and she 
brushed them aside as she addressed him. 

“ Colonel Trevelyan, the stream of grati- 
tude must always flow from me to you after 
what you have done,” she said humbly, regard- 
ing him with a frank, sweet seriousness. 

He had never heard this tone from her 
before, and it thrilled him. It was with 
difficulty that he answered calmly. 

“ What I did was nothing. But had it been 
otherwise — had the Crees really been ugly — 
had I come too late — life never would have 
been the same to me again.” 

They were riding somewhat behind the rest 
of the party. Two khaki-clad troopers went 
ahead; immediately behind them Mr. and 
Mrs. Mapleson rode side by side; then, with 
a trooper on each side of him, or when the 
narrowness of the trail necessitated it, in front 
and behind, rode Little Pine; and last of all 
came Colonel Trevelyan and Miss Templeton. 

The Cree chieftain was garbed in deerskin 
[260] 


The Lady of the Snows 


shirt and leggings, his red blanket belted 
round his waist. Dressed as he was, it seemed 
impossible that he could have sat his horse 
at all ; but he was doing it gracefully. 

The party had now entered the broken 
ground of the foothills, the jagged buttresses 
of the mountains. The slopes were clothed 
with a green mantle of obelisk firs, the apex 
of each individual tree being crowned with 
a mass of fireweed in its brightest Autumn 
tints of purple and red. 

Gloria Templeton saw all this as she lis- 
tened to the man beside her. For the first 
time she acknowledged the presence of his 
spirit’s clear flame in its contact with hers, 
and beheld him as he was in the incarnate 
strength of youth and sincerity. And she told 
herself: “It is true that I have misjudged 
him, but it is now too late; he would never 
forgive.” And turning again to him, she 
asked lightly (for his last speech had been 
much too pointed and ardent for her peace of 
mind) : 

“Then you are not sorry you came?” 

Restraint is a good thing in a man, but for 
[261] 


The Lady of the Snows 


the life of him Charlton Trevelyan could not 
control his voice, for the girl’s question pre- 
cipitated the very thing she was seeking to 
avoid. The man laughed triumphantly and 
caught and held her hand in his, and as the 
horses stopped in their slow walk exclaimed: 

“ Sorry! Not the least in the world.” He 
looked deeply into her eyes, and as her color 
rose and she shook her hand free, he con- 
cluded: “I have had the audacity to fall in 
love with you, you see. When I am at liberty 
to ask it of you, you shall come to me freely, 
willingly, even if the whole world opposes.” 

Glowing with emotion the woman protested 
feebly, and her eyes were mirrors of light. 

“ You — you are mad,” she gasped. “ 1 do 
not know you well enough to listen to you.” 

He seemed to have risen high above any 
objection that she might now oppose; indeed, 
he was so sure of himself, and of her, that a 
momentary sense of helplessness suddenly 
enveloped her. It is ever a woman’s first 
instinct to flee before the pendulum swings 
back to abject surrender. 

“You know life,” he returned, imperturb- 
[262] 


The Lady of the Snows 


ably. “You know how weak and conven- 
tional your objection is. It is not propinquity 
that makes or unmakes love; nearness or 
absence does not affect my thoughts of you. 
Why do you always hold yourself so aloof? 
Is it that you fear to know me better because 
love may enter your heart?” 

“No!” she hotly disclaimed, her face 
scarlet. 

“ Then why do you always fight me?” And 
as she did not answer, he leaned toward her, 
his lowered voice all at once vibrant with 
passion: “If to love a woman against one’s 
own judgment and against her will is mad- 
ness, then I am mad. For I love you. I 
shall love you eternally.” 

A wild, reckless feeling surged up from 
Gloria’s heart, glistening in her eyes and 
transfiguring her face; it was wholly joyous, 
yet it frightened her, and she panted a protest. 

“You — you must not — say such things to 
me — now.” 

“Why?” 

“You have not the right.” 

“ But I love you. Search your own heart 
[263] 


The Lady of the Snom 


and tell me whether that does not condone my 
presumption. I love you. It would bring 
us together from the ends of the earth I ” 

She was steadier now. 

“You! — say that to me,” she said huskily, 
“ and yet you tell me you are pledged to 
another woman!” She caught her breath 
sharply. 

But she seemed to have lost power to dis- 
turb his serene assurance. 

“ If that is your only objection, I shall soon 
get unpledged.” 

“ Even then,” she said bitterly, “ there is 
more between us.” 

“There is only what you choose to place 
there,” said Trevelyan, with a quick glance at 
her face. “ From the first you have perplexed 
me with just such cryptic utterances. Why 
try to enshroud yourself in so much mystery? 
You are yourself; that is abundantly sufficient 
for me. I am no longer curious, only wholly 
happy in your presence.” 

She abruptly sat more erect in her saddle, 
lifting her brows in the old familiar haughty 
way. 


[264] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“You imagine your creed of love the only 
one to follow?” 

“For me, yes,” he returned easily. “And 
for you, too, if you choose to make it so.” 

Again her heart leaped, for his wooing was 
fire and flame to her. She had never before 
confronted a man who so gloried in his pas- 
sion. The superman was conquering, and she 
knew it; one by one he was tearing down 
every safeguard that she had so painstakingly 
erected, and doing it with an ease and a calm 
assurance that confused and frightened her. 
In a supreme effort she fought to regain her 
self-possession; but the only weapon she could 
bring to her aid was a pitiful makeshift of 
flippancy. 

“Well,” she said desperately, “supposing 
I should attempt to live according to your 
creed, what guarantee have I that you could 
ever teach me the lesson?” 

This speech could have come no nearer 
working her undoing if she had uttered it in 
all seriousness. 

“You are learning it now,” he affirmed 
thickly. “ You can not deny it. You told me 
[265] 


The Lady of the Snows 


once I could not fail to reach the goal I 
wanted. I want you. I am going to have 
you. Listen to me. I have waited for you 
from the beginning of the world; God sent 
you to me, you are mine” — 

“No,” she answered rebelliously at his mas- 
terful tone, but she covered her face with her 
hands. Yet it was despair, not defiance, he 
heard in her voice. 

“ I swear,” he continued, “ that when I am 
free I shall fight until I win you, if I have to 
cross every snow-bound range between here 
and Montreal on foot to do it. Nothing on 
earth shall stand between us.” 

The man was splendid, irresistible. For a 
moment she was blinded, the rushing blood 
sang in her ears, a choking sensation filled her 
throat. She knew that if she said one word 
that her past reserve and self-control would 
be swept away by utter abandonment to this 
exquisite delight that was consuming her like 
a fever. And before she knew it she had 
lashed her astonished pony and was plunging 
headlong, unseeingly, to rejoin Mr. and Mrs. 
Mapleson. 


[266] 







































LL that night Gloria Templeton 
lay awake, listening to the 
crackle of the fir-wood fire. 
After the day’s emotional storm 
she was in a physical stupor, 
as it were, her muscles lax and 
reluctant to move; but her 
brain was a riot of tumultuous thought. The 
joy that had exalted her slowly died away, 
leaving in its place a dull, aching pain. 

Of all women, she hated to think that she 
had been unfair. Reliant herself, she had 
often wondered whether it would not be 
[269] 


The Lady of the Snows 


pleasanter to be a man than even the fairest of 
her own sex; yet, until today, she had been 
pretty well satisfied with life. She was de- 
voted to her work, and the gratification of 
knowing that she gave satisfaction in return 
was hers. She had been taught that earnest 
work was the only way to true happiness, and 
her feeling of disdain for the drones had been 
intensified by her surroundings. 

But tonight she knew that she had mis- 
judged a man by believing him to be a shirker 
of life’s responsibilities, an incompetent, an 
idler, a jellyfish sort of creature, spiritless and 
without ambition. The iron entered her soul 
at the thought of her scorn of his first attempt 
to overcome and live down the teachings of 
his earlier years. Anyhow, he was not to 
blame; he had been the helpless victim of 
environment, the creature of a condition, and 
he had demonstrated that the stuff had always 
been in him, by breaking away from those 
unworthy life habits and taking a man’s place 
in the world. She had questioned his deter- 
mination to stick, had doubted his ability to 
meet the struggle; and now that he had proven 
[270] 


The Lady of the Snows 


to her the unreliability of her judgment, she 
was disheartened and downcast. She wanted 
to encourage him, to approve his course, to 
rejoice with him, and shame arose in her 
throat that she could not, because she had not 
the right. The very fact that he was all she 
would have demanded in a husband only made 
matters worse. 

When her thoughts became intolerable she 
spurred her tired body to activity. Throwing 
aside her blankets, she made her way softly 
beyond the circle of firelight. 

The air was keen and crisp, and as it caressed 
her hot brow she was all at once soothed and 
calmed. “ I do rejoice,” she confided to the 
night; “I am glad, glad that he is worthy, 
even though he can be nothing to me but a 
memory.” 

She saw his former years as only a passive 
stage in his development, wherein he had 
awaited the secret inner voice to speak and 
bring him to a full understanding of life. 

Her mind reverted to the night of storm 
upon the mountain: although she had not be- 
lieved in him then, he had stirred her soul, 

[271] 


The Lady of the Snows 


and a subconscious cognition of a fact that her 
objective mind was blind to, had impelled 
her to fight him. 

“ Alas!” she told herself, as she stood under 
the brilliant stars and looked at the high- 
crested mountains, “ now that I truly believe 
all good of him it is too late. I deserve to 
suffer because I misjudged him. I let him 
go away then without a tithe of my secret, and 
when he learns it he will show no mercy ! ” 

The night was wonderful. Hours — it 
seemed ages — ago the sun had gone down in 
an awful crimson splendor, and a low-hang- 
ing moon was gliding to her plunge behind 
the silvered line of the higher peaks. In the 
distance a small stream rippled in lines of 
white brilliance, flashing here and there as if 
elfin bands were wantonly uncovering jewels 
upon its bosom. 

It came across the girl that it was no wonder 
the Indians worshipped the forces of Nature; 
their pantheistic beliefs seemed most regular 
and proper. Her own spirit was in tune with 
the splendors of the universe. 

She crept back to her couch before dawn, 
[272] 


The Lady of the Snows 


and when the sun rose and the camp was once 
more astir, she was paler than her wont, but 
apparently in her usual spirits. She had 
made up her mind what she must do, and as a 
courageous woman she would not shrink from 
duty. Charlton Trevelyan had once made a 
confession to her; the time had come when 
she believed he must listen to hers. 

It was to be their last afternoon together, 
for the day would bring them to the branch 
railroad which would carry her out of the 
mountains and down into the broad prairies 
and wheat-fields that marked the way to 
Winnipeg. 

Once more they were riding alone, but 
their moods were vastly different from what 
they had been the day before. Both had had 
time to face a revolutionizing condition in 
their lives, and to readjust themselves to it — 
the woman’s doubts having settled upon a re- 
solve to humble her pride and renounce her 
life’s happiness; while the man had arrived 
at a determination to free himself from a false 
position so that he could in honor^ue for his 
heart’s desire, and to do so at the earliest pos- 

[273] 


The Lady of the Snows 


sible moment. So speech between them was 
something of an effort, punctuated by long 
gaps of silence. 

He broke one of the longest pauses by an 
announcement which, uttered in the most 
matter-of-fact tones though it was, gave her a 
distinct shock of surprise. 

“The time is near at hand when I must 
resign from the Service,” said he. 

The color left Gloria’s face and she stared 
at him wide-eyed. 

“ I believe you will commend my course,” 
Trevelyan went on in explanation, “when you 
understand my reasons. The world offers no 
more honorable a career for a man than the 
Royal North-West Mounted Police of Cana- 
da; but you must admit that it has one very 
serious drawback for anybody with wide and 
varied ambitions — its possibilities are nar- 
rowed and restricted to one end. It exacts 
too much of one’s time for one to turn one’s 
attention to anything else. 

^ “ However, if a man is sincere and earnest, 
if he keeps his eyes open, he pretty soon learns 
all there is to know about the country, and 

[274] 


The Lady of the Snows 


he is constantly running across all sorts of 
opportunities in the most out of the way 
places, and at the most unexpected times.” 

The girl’s face cleared and she nodded. 
She was beginning to comprehend the drift 
of his talk. 

“ Some time ago,” Trevelyan continued, “ I 
burnt my bridges behind me and took a plunge 
into the future — but not blindly. I relin- 
quished my income for a cash settlement, and 
this small capital I have been investing — one 
or two promising mining-claims, quite a hold- 
ing of first-rate timber, and some tip-top Al- 
berta wheat land. Take my word for it, Miss 
Templeton, that country is shortly going to 
1 boom,’ as you say over here. Already I have 
been offered nearly double what I put into it. 
. . . What is the matter?” 

The queer expression with which the girl 
was studying his face had elicited the abrupt 
question. She colored with confusion. 

She said with a nervous laugh: “ Was my 
wonder and awe as patent as all that? Seri- 
ously, though, your enthusiasm carried me out 
of myself; set me to contrasting the present 

[275] 


The Lady of the Snows 


with — with” — she faltered and ended rather 
disjointedly — “with the picture of your past 
as you once depicted it to me.” 

“Not to my discredit, I trust?” 

“No,” she said faintly, averting her gaze. 
He went on : 

“Well, things have come to this stage: I 
feel that I can accomplish more and better 
results by devoting all my time to these differ- 
ent enterprises; in fact, I stand to lose by them 
unless I do. The Mounted Police have made 
it possible to put this country to the glorious 
uses for which God intended it, and now it’s 
the duty of the men who are equipped, finan- 
cially or otherwise, for the undertaking, to 
develop its resources. They can do no greater 
service for their fellows.” 

“You are right,” she said softly, not meet- 
ing his eyes, “you are right.” 

“Thank you,” he gravely returned. “I 
needed only such an expression from you to 
insure my success. I can’t regard failure even 
as a remote possibility.” 

They relapsed into silence which Gloria 
herself presently ended. 

[276] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“ Tomorrow this time,” she told him, “if 
nothing happens, I shall be in Winnipeg. I 
wonder what mad prank of fate will throw 
us together again? ” And before he had time 
to interpose, she concluded in a hollow voice: 
u I am to meet my guardian there.” 

He expressed a quick curiosity, and for 
some unaccountable reason the girl blushed 
again. 

“ It is to my shame,” she said, “ that I have 
not mentioned him before. I owe him every- 
thing.” 

Then Trevelyan’s heart warmed to the un- 
known guardian. He must be a splendid type 
if she praised him. He smiled gently as their 
eyes met, but said nothing because, to his sur- 
prise, she was much agitated, and he gave her 
time to recover herself. 

But his blood tingled warmly at the thought 
that he could now so stir her susceptibilities. 
Manlike, he longed to take her in his arms and 
kiss away her tears. 

“ I shall be glad to meet him,” said Trevel- 
yan. “ For, if you do not mind, I am going 
with you. And on to Quebec.” 

[277] 





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NTIL he should be able to come 
to her free and untrammelled, 
this was to be their last eve- 
ning together. His heart was 
heavy: how would he have the 
strength to let her go? 

He stood before the wide 
open hotel window, awaiting her coming. The 
gleaming lights of Winnipeg were sharp 
points of brightness against the velvety black- 
ness of night, but they gleamed dully for him; 
the low hum of the busy city life was strange 
after so long a time in the open, but it smote 
his ears disagreeably. 

[281] 




The Lady of the Snows 


Low in the West hung the evening star, but 
its brilliancy was dimmed; it was not the fine 
light that shone upon the faraway mountains. 
What if she refused to come to him at last? 
In the final test, what if he failed to break 
down the barriers of her reserve? Indeed, 
he was sick at heart. 

She had hinted that something stood be- 
tween them; but she should be his in spite of 
all, he swore over and over again; nothing 
should separate them now that she had not 
refused him outright. 

A swish of skirts came to him, and he swung 
round to meet her. She came to him clad in 
lustrous white and in evening-dress. It was 
the first time he had seen her so, and the sight 
of her beauty dazzled him. She seemed to 
draw the soul out of his body. Her bare arms 
and throat were like satin, but her cheeks were 
very pale. The glowing eyes, the red tints of 
her shining hair, were the only bits of color 
about her. 

He caught his breath quickly and stepped 
impetuously forward to catch her hand. But 
she gently withdrew it. 

[282] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“Colonel Trevelyan,” she began, “I have 
something to say to you, and I am finding it 
infinitely harder than I thought.” 

“ If it is so disagreeable,” he said lightly, 
“why tell me at all? We have such a little 
time to spend together, you know, before I 
must be off.” 

“ Because I must. I can not be at peace 
until I do. When you learn the truth, you 
will despise me.” 

Her manner was so tragic that he sobered. 

“Nothing,” he assured her with a grave 
gentleness, “ could make me despise you. 
Why — can you not see? It is the you that I 
know that I love ; nothing else matters. Noth- 
ing else can weigh — ” 

Extending her hand, she checked him with 
a sudden passionate outburst. 

“ Oh, don’t I Don’t make it any harder for 
me. God knows that what I have to say is 
bitter enough!” 

His love would have been of small account 
if the intensity of her feelings had not alarmed 
him. He waited while she drove herself to 
proceed. 

[283] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“ 1 have deceived you from the very first.” 

“ That’s nothing,” he once more assumed a 
cheerfulness of tone. “What I was trying to 
impose upon you was the worst sort of sham — 
a hollow imitation of a man.” 

But she was not to be turned aside. 

“ My deception was deliberate and inten- 
tional,” she said. “ I meant from the first to 
deceive you, and I have carried it right up to 
this moment. I am not Gloria Templeton.” 

“Not Gloria Templeton!” he echoed, un- 
able to hide his surprise. “ Do you mean that 
is not your name?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well,” after a pause, “if that is what was 
so hard to tell, let me hear the true name and 
your ordeal will be over. What is it?” 

“ Patricia Sutherland.” 

After the night in the mountain cabin, when 
she had told him that she was “G. Temple- 
ton,” he had fancied himself immune forever 
after from utter and overwhelming astonish- 
ment. But all the words with which one 
might portray the utmost extremity of that 
paralyzing species of mental shock are but 
[284] 


The Lady of the Snows 


weak and inefficient tools to describe the effect 
of the girl’s declaration. It would be true to 
say that he was staggered, swept from his men- 
tal balance; but none of these expressions can 
convey more than a glimmer of an idea to 
what extent he was moved. For how long he 
did not know his brain was incapable of 
receiving any impression whatever. 

And then by degrees he awakened to the 
fact that she was still speaking, and he lis- 
tened for the simple reason that he could not 
have thought of a word to utter if his very 
life had depended on it. Indeed, later she 
was obliged to go over the entire story again 
in order to supply details he had not heard at 
all. 

But he was dimly conscious that she was not 
sparing herself. She told how her scorn of 
him had made her despise him long before 
she saw him; how contempt had made her 
unjust in all of her criticisms, coloring and 
warping her judgment even after she had 
come to know him; how she had questioned 
and doubted his most transparent acts and mo- 
tives, and denounced him as a hypocrite; and 
[285] 


The Lady of the Snows 


finally, how she would not allow him to break 
his engagement, because she wanted to face 
him with scorn and throw back as Patricia 
Sutherland the love he had offered Gloria 
Templeton. 

Then she broke down. Her agitation 
stirred him as the most supreme effort of his 
self-command was unable to do, and then 
words came. 

“ But my letter,” he questioned : “ that came 
from you in Quebec, and you were in the 
Indian camp all the time?” 

“ Not all the time,” she replied. “ I was in 
Quebec eight weeks out of the twelve weeks 
of absence. Four were spent in the tepee near 
Maple Crossing.” 

In a measure he had regained his compo- 
sure by this time, and his thoughts flew quickly 
back to the Archbishop, to their first inter- 
view, and the deep concern which His Grace 
had manifested over their ill-feeling toward 
each other. Then he recalled the calmness 
with which the prelate had heard his confes- 
sion at Maple Crossing, and the latter’s sim- 
plicity all at once assumed an aspect of 
[286] 


The Lady of the Snows 


worldly wisdom and astuteness that he had 
never suspected. 

And then, with a suddenness that made the 
girl gasp, he laughed. Even amid this tragic 
situation the thought of the Archbishop’s com- 
plete knowledge of the whole affair was irre- 
sistible. But as suddenly the laughter ceased 
and an indescribable light of tenderness came 
into his face, and her own reddened furiously. 
She could not meet his look. 

“And you — Gloria Templeton,” he said 
incredulously, “are really Patricia Suther- 
land!” 

“Yes,” faintly. 

“Then please to remember that we are still 
engaged and that you persistently refused to 
release me.” 

“ I release you now,” she said hurriedly, but 
with abrupt vehemence. “ I shall never touch 
a penny of the money you have given me — 
never, never, never!” 

“Nonsense,” he interrupted, “can’t you see 
how your story alters everything? How every 
obstacle is smoothed away?” And as he took 
a step towards her, he added earnestly, “I 
[287] 


The Lady of the Snows 


shall not release you. You are mine by every 
law, and I shall certainly take you.” 

But she evaded his arms. “ I deceived 
you,” she persisted, breathing hard; “you can 
never forget that. Though Gloria Temple- 
ton — my mother’s name, is a part of mine, 
too — still my intention was to deceive. Noth- 
ing can condone that.” 

He dismissed it with a breath. “ It is the 
name by which you were known in the Secret 
Service; what more natural than that you 
should give it to me?” 

“ I could not have used my own name in 
the Service,” she admitted, “because it is too 
well known. The officials, my guardian, and 
a few of my closest friends alone knew of my 
identity, and for that reason I feel guiltier. I 
knew you could not discover me.” 

He answered only: “I love you,” and 
tried to draw her to him. 

But still she held him off, though her beau- 
tiful face was radiant and glorified, and she 
was overcome with a confusion that was inex- 
pressibly sweet to the man. 

“And you can still forgive?” she asked. 

[288] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“ I have nothing to forgive, nothing,” he 
said. “ Do you not see that you alone gave me 
courage and ambition? That if I ever do 
anything worthy, it will be because of you — 
of you, beloved?” 

Yet still she held herself aloof, still she 
fought him off. If she ever went to him it 
must be with perfect faith; nothing should 
ever stand between them again. 

Eagerly he held out his arms. But, with 
scarlet cheek and the old imperious uplift of 
the head, she proudly questioned: “And that 
woman, she who first gave you courage, who 
awakened the glow in your soul — what if you 
should meet her; would she not stand forever 
as a wraith between us? ” 

“ But I have found her long ago, am plead- 
ing to her now for my life’s happiness.” 

And then the girl heard what seemed to her 
incredible. Yet she remembered well the 
scene at Lake Louise, and the figure of the 
man in the shrubbery. 

“There is only one thing that can stand be- 
tween us now,” he breathed softly; “will you 
deny me that?” 


[289] 


The Lady of the Snows 


“That was yours ever since we climbed the 
mountain together,” she said simply. 

And as a smile broke over her face he 
caught her in his arms and held her close. 
And looking into her eyes and seeing there 
belief in him, and love, he laid his lips on 
hers. 

Through anger and doubt, almost through 
fire and sword, he had won her: the woman 
God had made for him, and he took her to 
himself. 

An hour passed before they were conscious 
of the world again. She pushed back the soft 
waves of hair from her eyes, saying: “We 
have both forgotten my uncle.” 

He kissed her for her forgetfulness, as they 
rose to meet him. 

Said His Grace banteringly, greeting them 
with a chuckle: “Ah, my children, I should 
have known better than to doubt the little 
arrowed god when once you met. But,” he 
added with twinkling eyes, “my fear was the 
timidity of age.” 


[290] 


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OCT 28 1912 










LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


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